The Lambs

Somehow, Himself and I started a tradition of Lamb on Easter Sunday. I find it hard to equate eating lamb (I try not to think of it in it's pre-life) on a holiday during which we are celebrating the life of the Lamb of God, but every time I bring it up, Himself rolls his eyes and bemoans the fact that I refuse to purchase lamb any other time of the year, because it is outrageously expensive. It is an odd tradtion, considering neither of us ever ate lamb growing up, but one of the few that are our "own" traditions, so I find an odd thrill in it.

In fact, as a child, my family didn't even have Easter Dinner. Instead, we had the annual Family Boonies Trek, where we'd grab one of the USGS topo maps that fill my father's filing cabinets, pile in one or two beater vehicles and journey miles from any other living soul over 4-wheel-drive roads. We would then hunt for colored eggs (somewhere on the Kaibab Plateau there are a lot of eggs that rotted, we never found them all), burn hot dogs over a fire (the only time I'll ever eat them) and indulge in a rather specific hunt for antique rocks (given the fact that the specific activity, conducted on public lands, is technically illegal, I remain purposefully vague).

This Easter, as are most Easters of my adulthood, was totally different from those of my childhood. I dashed home from church to whip up a fine meal of lamb in balsamic reduction, garlic mashed potatoes, greek salad and steamed asparagus. I use the same lamb recipe every year, but this year it turned out better than ever - and Himself commented it was the best lamb he'd ever had (this is significant, as Himself orders lamb when we go out more often than anything else).

Unfortunately, after the highlight of our quiet lunch, the rest of the holiday was an enormous disaster. I went to bed feeling jaded, jealous of those who get to spend holidays with family (even though moving 2,200 miles away was my idea) and generally obstinate.

I lay in bed contemplating the highlights of the day and realized that I had what I needed to make the holiday successful, I just had to stop looking at it through the eyes of what a "successful" holiday should be and instead, look at it through the lenses of what the Easter season means to me. It came down to The Lambs. The morning was spent contemplating and expressing gratitude for the inconceivable pain and agony of the Lamb of God and the celebration of His resurrection. Mid-day, Himself and I enjoyed a quiet dinner for two, dining on succulent lamb and pondering what Easter really meant. In those quiet hours, before chaos struck, my Easter, though not ideal in my eyes, was poignant and served its purpose.

I fell asleep, still upset, but vowing to reflect more on what I had than what I wanted. I had a beautiful opportunity to worship and celebrate. I had a quiet afternoon with Himself over good food. I had everything I needed to say, "Happy Easter."