For the first time since we became parents, we navigated Easter morning without tears. There was no fussing over pinchy shoes. Our pre-church Easter basket treats caused no sugar crashes. Porch pictures were taken with gladness. All was well.
Fifteen minutes later, it began. “I need a drink of water,” my daughter whispered to me as we sang a Resurrection hymn. “We’ll wait a little while,” I whispered back. “No, I need one now,” came her louder reply. “We can’t walk out now,” I insisted in my own more urgent tone. “It’s Easter.”
In hindsight, it really is the most appropriate day to recognize one’s thirst. But I didn’t think about that then. What I felt instead was the weight of expectations that have become familiar over the last few Easters. This should be a joyous morning. We are celebrating a risen Lord, after all. But every year, what I feel more keenly is the depth of my need. To get through this morning peacefully. To celebrate with true gladness. To glimpse even a hazy version of the victory won on that first Easter.
When our pastor started his message a few minutes later, he called it the “pivot point” of humanity. Everything turned on that day. The massive shift desperately needed for so long happened then and there.
“That’s what I need!” I thought. A pivot from my own earthly expectations of this day and this life to something more glorious. My brain took off with the concept. It’s even a good time of year for an Easter pivot. We’re heading into outreach season in church and family life. Warmer weather will bring more opportunities to engage with our neighbors.
In fact, it’s a good time of my whole life for an Easter pivot! I’m right in the middle of my middle years. This kind of shift should fuel my second half. Trademark it, make it a thing! #EasterPivotTM
I was apparently navigating my own sugar crash. But what has ensued in the weeks since Easter is a quieter understanding of the concept: I need an Easter pivot every day. It’s important that I recognize the “almost, but not yet” quality of even our best days, that they’re just a fraction the joy and glory and peace to come.
That’s good fuel for this afternoon, this week, this year, and all the other second halves.
Meredith Day Flynn is a wife and mother of two living in Springfield. She writes on the intersection of faith, family, and current culture.