No matter what your personal beliefs or traditions are about Easter, most people recognize that it symbolizes resurrection. It may be a holy resurrection or the regeneration of nature after the death of winter, but renewal is in the air.
The first thing I saw on this Easter morning was a baby bunny rabbit. He had survived the coyotes and hawks, so far, huddled under a flowering shrub in a domesticated zone of the Arizona desert. It was, in fact, that precise moment that I remembered it even was Easter Sunday. I had been reflecting the past week on the delicacy and unpredictability of life. Ever an optimist, however, I had a trio of related but uniquely different experiences that reminded me of regeneration this past weekend.
First, I saw a man dragging a cross up Catalina Hwy, trudging up the side of Mt. Lemmon in Tucson, AZ. This wasn’t just a small, fake, or Styrofoam cross, or the one carried by a fleet of believers in an annual ceremony where they plant and observe it on Easter Sunday. This was a substantial 4 x 4 constructed wooden cross, and he carried it alone. He was near the 6,000 ft. elevation marker, though I don’t know where he began (I looked for and saw no nearby car parked). He was followed by a lone woman, dressed in similar camouflage fatigues. The cross had a small wheel attached to its base, so he was technically pulling it, one of the short branches slung over his shoulder. He wore no sign. No cameras were rolling. I could only speculate as to his purpose. Was he planning to go past 10,000 feet to the summit? Had he begun at 2500 ft, the base? I admired him, whatever his reason. He was having his own transformation, whatever it may have been, physical, spiritual, emotional, or all three.
Another very inspiring event was a wonderful author whose never say quit spirit made her choose to resurrect a set-aside manuscript for a second look, another chance to find it the perfect home where it would be appreciated and cared for with the respect and love of story it deserved. [Writers always inspire me. It’s not an easy job. It can be one of the loneliest and most insecure jobs, too. The value or goodness ranking of a story is subjective. Good writing is more uniformly appreciated, but all the ingredients of a novel combined leave it open to opinions on all manner of things by all manner of people. Backlists are underappreciated too, says I.]
My third Easter experience came in the midst of a three planes, three liftoffs and touchdowns, and two layovers Easter Sunday trip home. A mere 14 hours later, when I finally arrived home, I was still thinking about it. I absentmindedly (on this amount of sleep there is very little mind left at all), stuck my earplugs into the plane’s movie sound as I flipped open my laptop to edit a manuscript. The movie was the same one we’d seen on the flight out, so I didn’t plan to watch it. It muffled the crying baby and loud talk across the aisle. The only thing that made me pause and look up was one great line in a fairly bad movie. This may not be exact, but it’s close: “We’re all just one small adjustment away from making our lives work.” How true is that? Life is as amazing as you want it to be.
I have spoken with several people lately who have written or are in the process of writing a book they always said they could, they should, or they might. Whatever your bliss…follow it! Let this season of rebirth and regeneration serve as a resurrection of your childhood belief that the world is filled with endless possibilities. Then do something about it. Change is movement, not stasis. Have a blessed Easter.
The first thing I saw on this Easter morning was a baby bunny rabbit. He had survived the coyotes and hawks, so far, huddled under a flowering shrub in a domesticated zone of the Arizona desert. It was, in fact, that precise moment that I remembered it even was Easter Sunday. I had been reflecting the past week on the delicacy and unpredictability of life. Ever an optimist, however, I had a trio of related but uniquely different experiences that reminded me of regeneration this past weekend.
First, I saw a man dragging a cross up Catalina Hwy, trudging up the side of Mt. Lemmon in Tucson, AZ. This wasn’t just a small, fake, or Styrofoam cross, or the one carried by a fleet of believers in an annual ceremony where they plant and observe it on Easter Sunday. This was a substantial 4 x 4 constructed wooden cross, and he carried it alone. He was near the 6,000 ft. elevation marker, though I don’t know where he began (I looked for and saw no nearby car parked). He was followed by a lone woman, dressed in similar camouflage fatigues. The cross had a small wheel attached to its base, so he was technically pulling it, one of the short branches slung over his shoulder. He wore no sign. No cameras were rolling. I could only speculate as to his purpose. Was he planning to go past 10,000 feet to the summit? Had he begun at 2500 ft, the base? I admired him, whatever his reason. He was having his own transformation, whatever it may have been, physical, spiritual, emotional, or all three.
Another very inspiring event was a wonderful author whose never say quit spirit made her choose to resurrect a set-aside manuscript for a second look, another chance to find it the perfect home where it would be appreciated and cared for with the respect and love of story it deserved. [Writers always inspire me. It’s not an easy job. It can be one of the loneliest and most insecure jobs, too. The value or goodness ranking of a story is subjective. Good writing is more uniformly appreciated, but all the ingredients of a novel combined leave it open to opinions on all manner of things by all manner of people. Backlists are underappreciated too, says I.]
My third Easter experience came in the midst of a three planes, three liftoffs and touchdowns, and two layovers Easter Sunday trip home. A mere 14 hours later, when I finally arrived home, I was still thinking about it. I absentmindedly (on this amount of sleep there is very little mind left at all), stuck my earplugs into the plane’s movie sound as I flipped open my laptop to edit a manuscript. The movie was the same one we’d seen on the flight out, so I didn’t plan to watch it. It muffled the crying baby and loud talk across the aisle. The only thing that made me pause and look up was one great line in a fairly bad movie. This may not be exact, but it’s close: “We’re all just one small adjustment away from making our lives work.” How true is that? Life is as amazing as you want it to be.
I have spoken with several people lately who have written or are in the process of writing a book they always said they could, they should, or they might. Whatever your bliss…follow it! Let this season of rebirth and regeneration serve as a resurrection of your childhood belief that the world is filled with endless possibilities. Then do something about it. Change is movement, not stasis. Have a blessed Easter.