I was nine years old and very excited about the upcoming
Easter holiday. Easter was such a
special time in our home. My sisters and
I always received the most beautiful baskets, with large chocolate eggs in
them and then the whole family would get together at my Italian Grandparent’s
home. After church, Aunts, Uncles and
cousins would come all dressed in their finest Easter clothes, and we would
have lots of Italian food and special treats to eat. I couldn’t wait!
That year my Mom worked at the Rexall Drug Store. She would walk to work in the afternoon and
come home late at night; sometimes after we were already in bed. Most evenings though, she would be home in
time for a late dinner and she always spent time talking to us and
playing.
In early spring, Mom had begun work on
our Easter dresses. This particular year,
she had found the most beautiful material for mine; she said she got it on sale. It was the freshest, silkiest white I had
ever seen, with little pink and lavender flowers on it in neat little
rows. She also had some red silk ribbon
for a sash. I couldn’t wait to see what
kind of dress she would make it into!
Each night after all of us kids were asleep (there were
seven of us), Mom would stay up cutting and sewing late into the night. Each morning when I woke up I would run to
the living room to see the progress on my dress. Mom would hang the dresses from an old bird
cage hook in the living room. Sometimes
mine wouldn’t look any different, but my sisters’ would.
That year, as I watched my beautiful Easter dress take form,
I thought about Mom and how hard she worked at the store every day; how after
walking home, she would prepare a meal for us and still seemed to be in a good
mood; sitting with us to hear about our day and rubbing our backs as we sat on
the couch. And, then, when everyone else
had enough day and we all fell into our beds exhausted, she would somehow find
the energy to stay up and work on our dresses.
A few days before Easter, I woke to find Mom had finished
sewing my dress. I stared at it in
wonder and stroked the beautiful red satin ribbon that wound around the top
of my dress. I examined each little
stitch and every little flower. I had
never seen a more beautiful or wonderfully made dress. When Mom woke she came into the living room
and saw me looking at my dress; in her warm smile, I found the explanation of
how she was able to sew while everyone else slept.
Finally Easter morning had arrived and we were all bustling
around the house getting ready for church.
I woke extra early so I could wear my dress longer. After my hair was brushed and pulled back,
Mom carefully took the dress off the hook.
She slipped it over my head and zipped the back closed. I looked up at her smiling face and was
amazed at what I saw in her eyes; the joy she was feeling for having given me
something so beautiful, so precious, and with such sacrifice.
The dress felt as warm and comforting as one of her
hugs. It made me feel so clean and pure
and fresh; like a newborn baby all wrapped in new blankets. No one in the world had a dress like mine; sewn
together with the perfect measure of sacrificial love, divine energy and pure
joy. That Easter, when I was nine years
old, I understood the true meaning of Easter.
How Jesus sacrificed to make us new and pure, white as snow and I understood
the love and joy He feels in having given us such a good and perfect gift.
