Traditions

As a preacher's kid, in a small town, traditions defined so much of our lives. As a kid, it was the traditional things that bothered me. We lived 30 minutes away and were the first and last people at the church. Now, as a pastor's wife at a different church, I find it's the traditions that I find myself missing the most. I think this began in college, when I found myself missing the church's Easter egg hunt and would insist that my dad took me to visit and reminisce about my days where I was so excited to find a smashed, colored-so-much-it-was-brown egg in a field that I could barely stand myself.

Tonight, as I was cooking dinner (when I do most of my thinking), I started to think about the traditions that surround the church I grew up in and this weekend: candlelight communion at Good Friday service, the Easter Egg hunt tomorrow, packing up our bags and the car for a very early Sunday, waking up, getting in the car to the Easter baskets (the Easter bunny was so intuitive to know that our baskets should be delivered to our back seats), Sunrise service, breakfast at my adopted grandma's house (oh yummy ham and biscuits!), Easter Sunday service, and then heading home (exhausted, after already putting in a huge day), eating some lasagna, and crashing for a nap.

(Except for the year we made my mom and Nannie jump on our trampoline. Amazing.)

(You have to nap, so you can stay up for endless hours to watch The Ten Commandments. So let it be written; let it be done)

(I'm still not sure why they show The Sound of Music and The Ten Commandments at Easter?!)

On top of traditions that are set-up, the unintentional things that happen often become a more engrained memory that any others. Like, getting my Granny Mary's house for Easter breakfast and calling one of my best friends, Matthew, to get him up to come eat breakfast with us (it was his real Granny), or Amanda locking her mom's keys in their running van (still laughing), or choosing the ribbon for my Easter hat (oh yes. A pic to come). I don't think my mom, my Ma T, or I will forget the year I had strep throat and tonsillitis at the same time. I'm pretty sure I slept that whole Easter. Or the year we didn't know all of our potatoes were rotten until we sat down at the dinner table and cut into them.

Now, that I'm married to a pastor (who serves in his childhood church), I'm learning that every church has their traditions that are as near and dear to their hearts as ham and egg hunts are to mine. (I've learned that SBC's big tradition is a wonderful Easter breakfast made by the deacons)

The older I get, the more I realize the importance of being involved in a body of believers and embracing the traditions. Was I irritated that we had to be up before the roosters to get to Sunrise service and my folks weren't keen on jamming to my Dolly Parton and Billy Ray Cyrus tape single "Romeo" at 6:15 am??

(Seriously, best. Song. Ever.)

Yes. Do I treasure every memory? Yes. Above all, I feel so blessed to have my memories (and a plethora of Reese's eggs)