Easter Grettings
Write In Maine
I wrote a short story titled Easter Lilies for Moma few days ago and sent it off to my Mom. Shortly, I received an answering email from her, which was probably the most precious gift I have ever received from my mother. I will post both below, in the hope that it will add meaning to your Easter experience. God bless all writers, readers, and most especially all those who can do neither!
Easter Lilies For Mom
The delicate, almost translucent, beauty, the heavy, intoxicating fragrance are imprinted upon my mind from my earliest childhood memory. The Easter Lily was the most poignant sign of the Easter season, to me as a youngster. I remember when I was three, and Mom placed the potted plant on the coffee table, in our living room. I kept going in there and inhaling its fragrance until my lungs were filled to the spilling over point! I wanted to taste it! I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I wouldn’t. Still, I wanted to. I looked, inhaled, and lightly caressed the long, thin, fragile petals with my very finger tips.
The Easter lily was to be in our house for one day only. Mom had purchased the lily for her mother. She was to do this every Easter throughout my childhood and beyond.
I have read where the lily is the flower of the Gods. They say that in early Christian art, the lily is a symbol of purity because of its delicacy of form and its snow white color. Further, they say, the white trumpet has come to symbolize the resurrection of Jesus.
My mother’s father had died during the Easter season, when my mother was only nine years old. She told me, when I was a child, that she loved the Easter Lily because it always reminded her of her father. The funeral parlor had been filled with Easter Lilies for his funeral services. I always thought it strange that this memory had not ruined the beauty of the lily for my Mom. I guess even though it had been her father’s funeral, a goodbye if you will, the memory was a memory of him and far preferable to the days of no more memories. And this had to be one of her more vivid memories.
After I grew up, I remembered that most often Mom would purchase one potted lily only. This one lily would be presented to my grandmother, usually with an accompanying Easter Ideals. But no lily for my Mom. So, I took up the tradition. I made sure my Mom had a potted Lily every Easter season. Well, that is, I did until my younger sister started beating me to it, and then the parish priest started beating her to the punch! He delivered the biggest and most beautiful potted lily! My sister and I both relented. By this time, our father had developed asthma and the Easter Lily usually ended up in the basement, anyways.
So, its been a long time since I have inhaled the intoxicating fragrance, and lightly caressed the long, thin, fragile petals with my very finger tips. Our church services, however, on Easter Sunday, are always a beautifully emotional experience for me. In no small part, due to the Lilies adorning the alter and pulpit. It is as if they stand there under the cross trumpeting their silent ‘Alleluia!’ affirming ‘He is risen!’
Today, my daughter, Anna, arrived with her two children. Her daughter, Violet, is three and her son, Ezra, is one year old. I heard them drive in and went to the door to see if I could help. Anna and her husband, Dan, struggle financially. Looking at their old van, I thought, I wish I could afford to buy them a new vehicle--heck I wish I could afford to buy them a house! I thought of a million things I might buy them, if I won the Power Ball, and ‘make the happier.’
As Anna put her hand on the rear van door, she looked up at me and gave me the most radiant smile! I thanked God. She is happy. I watched her slide open the van door, waiting for the grandchildren to pile out. Anna bent and removed an Easter Lily, trumpeting the love between a mother and daughter. She had spent monies, she could ill afford, on an Easter Lily for her mother. I knew she could not really afford this--like I often had not been able to ‘really afford it’--like my Mom had not been able to ‘really afford it.’ I realized, that they joy of the Easter Lily in my family has always been in the giving, more than in the receiving.
After Anna and the children left, I went over to the coffee table in my living room. My eyes drank in the delicate, almost translucent, beauty. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Yes, oh yes, the heavy, intoxicating fragrance out of memories. Slowly, I lightly caressed the long, thin petals, with my very finger tips. My heart was overflowing with joy. My darling daughter thank you!
I always am saddened to see the Easer Lilies die down after Easter. It came to me, as I stood there, eyes closed, intoxicated from the fragrance…I know what I will do this spring! I will start a new tradition. I will take the wilted lily and plant it on the grave of my grandmother and her husband--the grandfather I never knew--. I will plant them every year, until their graves are a virtual garden of Easter Lilies! It will give joy to my Mom and my daughter, and hopefully those whose bodies wilted, like the lilies, but now trumpet their praises for the risen Lord, who has given them life everlasting!
My dear little Sizzy, Thank you for your precious version of the Easter Lilly in our family. I am amazed that I did not give you the first impression of mine of the Lilly. In 1935 (the last year that my dearest Daddy was able to still play his beloved Violin), we went on Easter Sunday to our Church which was so near to our home that we walked. It was a gorgeous spring day. Daddy wore a navy blue suit (his only) pressed to the minute and a white as snow shirt with a bow tie fashionable in those days. When we entered the Church Daddy left Nan, David and me and went up into the choir loft, which was in front near the pulpit. The choir area was fenced by a railing of hard wood. The spokes were ornate and beautiful. For Easter, all around that railing stood potted Easter Lilies, pot to pot, so the plants appeared to be as one. Daddy took his seat center front and picked up his Violin, which had been previously placed there for him. When the service began , he stood and played "In the Garden" Halleluiah, oh how the angels sang!!!!!!!!!!!! It is in my heart forever and today I hear and see it as clearly as though it were just happening.. Its not sad Siz, tis a treasure in my heart and besides you know how I love to cry!!!!!!!!!!!! Love you my darling, and always remember that for every night there is a day. Had I not lost him, I would not have you. What a beloved trade in - he rejoices with us!! Happy Easter, my treasured daughter and all the joys tomorrows hold. Muz
P.S. And still another bonus - God gave us our Mikey and how we love!!!
I wrote a short story titled Easter Lilies for Moma few days ago and sent it off to my Mom. Shortly, I received an answering email from her, which was probably the most precious gift I have ever received from my mother. I will post both below, in the hope that it will add meaning to your Easter experience. God bless all writers, readers, and most especially all those who can do neither!
Easter Lilies For Mom
The delicate, almost translucent, beauty, the heavy, intoxicating fragrance are imprinted upon my mind from my earliest childhood memory. The Easter Lily was the most poignant sign of the Easter season, to me as a youngster. I remember when I was three, and Mom placed the potted plant on the coffee table, in our living room. I kept going in there and inhaling its fragrance until my lungs were filled to the spilling over point! I wanted to taste it! I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I wouldn’t. Still, I wanted to. I looked, inhaled, and lightly caressed the long, thin, fragile petals with my very finger tips.
The Easter lily was to be in our house for one day only. Mom had purchased the lily for her mother. She was to do this every Easter throughout my childhood and beyond.
I have read where the lily is the flower of the Gods. They say that in early Christian art, the lily is a symbol of purity because of its delicacy of form and its snow white color. Further, they say, the white trumpet has come to symbolize the resurrection of Jesus.
My mother’s father had died during the Easter season, when my mother was only nine years old. She told me, when I was a child, that she loved the Easter Lily because it always reminded her of her father. The funeral parlor had been filled with Easter Lilies for his funeral services. I always thought it strange that this memory had not ruined the beauty of the lily for my Mom. I guess even though it had been her father’s funeral, a goodbye if you will, the memory was a memory of him and far preferable to the days of no more memories. And this had to be one of her more vivid memories.
After I grew up, I remembered that most often Mom would purchase one potted lily only. This one lily would be presented to my grandmother, usually with an accompanying Easter Ideals. But no lily for my Mom. So, I took up the tradition. I made sure my Mom had a potted Lily every Easter season. Well, that is, I did until my younger sister started beating me to it, and then the parish priest started beating her to the punch! He delivered the biggest and most beautiful potted lily! My sister and I both relented. By this time, our father had developed asthma and the Easter Lily usually ended up in the basement, anyways.
So, its been a long time since I have inhaled the intoxicating fragrance, and lightly caressed the long, thin, fragile petals with my very finger tips. Our church services, however, on Easter Sunday, are always a beautifully emotional experience for me. In no small part, due to the Lilies adorning the alter and pulpit. It is as if they stand there under the cross trumpeting their silent ‘Alleluia!’ affirming ‘He is risen!’
Today, my daughter, Anna, arrived with her two children. Her daughter, Violet, is three and her son, Ezra, is one year old. I heard them drive in and went to the door to see if I could help. Anna and her husband, Dan, struggle financially. Looking at their old van, I thought, I wish I could afford to buy them a new vehicle--heck I wish I could afford to buy them a house! I thought of a million things I might buy them, if I won the Power Ball, and ‘make the happier.’
As Anna put her hand on the rear van door, she looked up at me and gave me the most radiant smile! I thanked God. She is happy. I watched her slide open the van door, waiting for the grandchildren to pile out. Anna bent and removed an Easter Lily, trumpeting the love between a mother and daughter. She had spent monies, she could ill afford, on an Easter Lily for her mother. I knew she could not really afford this--like I often had not been able to ‘really afford it’--like my Mom had not been able to ‘really afford it.’ I realized, that they joy of the Easter Lily in my family has always been in the giving, more than in the receiving.
After Anna and the children left, I went over to the coffee table in my living room. My eyes drank in the delicate, almost translucent, beauty. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Yes, oh yes, the heavy, intoxicating fragrance out of memories. Slowly, I lightly caressed the long, thin petals, with my very finger tips. My heart was overflowing with joy. My darling daughter thank you!
I always am saddened to see the Easer Lilies die down after Easter. It came to me, as I stood there, eyes closed, intoxicated from the fragrance…I know what I will do this spring! I will start a new tradition. I will take the wilted lily and plant it on the grave of my grandmother and her husband--the grandfather I never knew--. I will plant them every year, until their graves are a virtual garden of Easter Lilies! It will give joy to my Mom and my daughter, and hopefully those whose bodies wilted, like the lilies, but now trumpet their praises for the risen Lord, who has given them life everlasting!
My dear little Sizzy, Thank you for your precious version of the Easter Lilly in our family. I am amazed that I did not give you the first impression of mine of the Lilly. In 1935 (the last year that my dearest Daddy was able to still play his beloved Violin), we went on Easter Sunday to our Church which was so near to our home that we walked. It was a gorgeous spring day. Daddy wore a navy blue suit (his only) pressed to the minute and a white as snow shirt with a bow tie fashionable in those days. When we entered the Church Daddy left Nan, David and me and went up into the choir loft, which was in front near the pulpit. The choir area was fenced by a railing of hard wood. The spokes were ornate and beautiful. For Easter, all around that railing stood potted Easter Lilies, pot to pot, so the plants appeared to be as one. Daddy took his seat center front and picked up his Violin, which had been previously placed there for him. When the service began , he stood and played "In the Garden" Halleluiah, oh how the angels sang!!!!!!!!!!!! It is in my heart forever and today I hear and see it as clearly as though it were just happening.. Its not sad Siz, tis a treasure in my heart and besides you know how I love to cry!!!!!!!!!!!! Love you my darling, and always remember that for every night there is a day. Had I not lost him, I would not have you. What a beloved trade in - he rejoices with us!! Happy Easter, my treasured daughter and all the joys tomorrows hold. Muz
P.S. And still another bonus - God gave us our Mikey and how we love!!!
posted by SueB at
2:13 PM
|
0 comments
