Courage

Look at these brave little daffodils. . .most of the snow was melted by the time I took this picture.  
Yes, the kids did the church egg hunt in the snow this morning.  Only in Minnesota.

I don't remember very much about last Easter.  I think my sister and brother-in-law made a nice dinner and put on a very sweet treasure hunt for Calvin and Mary.  Pastor Kris had real chicks in church.

I remember every nuance of every moment from Easter two years ago.  It started with Palm Sunday.  We drove down to Iowa to watch my dad conduct the Seven Last Words of Christ cantata.  It was put on by the community choir in Tipton, Iowa, composed of the church choirs of several local denominations.  (Yes, there are other denominations than Lutheran in Iowa. . . )  He wasn't feeling good, but managed to inspire the large choir to a very moving performance.  He rented a tux.  I never saw my dad in a tux before.  He sang the bass solo of "God, My Father, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me."
After the performance he slept through the whole after-glow party at the house.

He went in Monday for tests.  We didn't hear the "C" word until Maundy Thursday.  Good Friday confirmed his tragic diagnosis.  Saturday I fumbled my way through coloring Easter eggs with the kids while listening to some music that seemed to speak to me that these moments, these lifetimes, are all just specks on eternity.  It would be okay.  Easter Sunday I fought my way through the fight or flight panic that there was no where to run to, no place to hide, nothing to do except to just go through this with my family.

Nobody ever spoke aloud the rancid irony of Daddy singing that solo, but I think many of us went there inside our hearts.  He never did.  He retained a simple faith throughout the whole remaining five and a half months of his life.

The previous Christmas I got a key chain from the James Avery company. It has three bronze circles intertwined that say "Wisdom, Serenity, and Courage."  Somehow I never put it together as the same words from the "Serenity Prayer."   I do recall thinking that wisdom and serenity were somehow greater virtues than courage.  Courage is for soldiers.  Police and fireman.  Heroes.  Maybe even Olympic athletes. Who needs courage really?  

I didn't know that my dad would be the most courageous person I would ever know.  Facing a terminal diagnosis takes a kind of courage I could never have imagined.  Courage is for all of us.  Everyone who ever holds the hand of someone who is dying.

Holy week will always remind me of my Dad singing the Seven Last Words.  There isn't too much I can do about that.  But it's okay.  It's okay because Holy Week ends with Easter.

Easter makes everything okay.  It makes holding that hand a little easier.   Easter makes courage a little easier.