Easter Break (A Re-cap/Rambling of Sorts)

-WARNING: This gets obnoxiously close to sounding like a diary entry. Due to a jellybean overdose, probably.-

Last night I was babysitting some kids who live on my street. They had been in bed about an hour and I was happily curled up on the couch reading when Molly, age 7, ran into the room with a panicked look; I thought her 4 year old brother had disappeared or lit the house on fire, or both. "What is it?" I asked her as I quickly shut my book and hopped up. "I didn't leave out the eggs for the Easter bunny to hide, or my Easter basket for him to fill!" she gasped. "He's not gonna know where they are!" I took her by the hand and we strode to the kitchen, where freshly decorated eggs sat in the fridge. We stuck them on the front porch and proceeded to search for the baskets. They were nowhere to be found; I assumed this was because they were already filled and waiting. I only had to promise Molly several hundred times I'd make sure her parents found them and put them out. As I tucked her back into bed she asked me when exactly the Easter Bunny came. I told her not in the middle of the night, Santa hogged that time slot, though rabbits prefer early morning anyway, so right when the sun rises. "Why does the bunny have eggs?" She questioned next. "Because he is trying to keep his relations with the chicken on the down low." I informed her. "What?" She looked frustrated. "Don't worry about it." I gave her pillow one last fluff then walked out. I thought I'd made an escape when the little voice spoke again. "Sally?" I sighed. "Yes, Sleeping Beauty?" "I'm glad you know so much about Easter." I turned in time to watch her drift into sleep as she said this, and thus the child was spared a sermon on The True Meaning of Easter. I will spare you one as well, because gosh, we all know it right? We all know Easter isn't about bunnies and colorful eggs and baskets lined with paper grass that makes my cat barf...it's about much more...like jellybeans. Joke.

Today Rachel and I both went to Burke Community Church with our own families. It felt strange this morning, making my single cup of coffee and leaving my nearly half full notebook called "Church, for lack of a better title" behind. I felt my thoughts on this one would be too tainted. I cannot look at the place with fresh eyes. I don't dwell on the past, which is exactly why I don't love returning. It smelled like junior high in there. I already have a strong taste of the atmosphere and an impression of many of the people. It wouldn't be fair to those who I don't know or have changed for me to make any observations. Though I imagine they too see me, "girl with the bizarre sense of humor," as I was called once, and can also assume only what they know from before. Sure I've changed. I've made some (okay a lot) of mistakes and learned and never regretted. I've mastered controlling my temper and telling the truth, (THAT’S A BIG FAT LIE) and I don't have braces anymore. But essentially, I'm the same.

Johnny, a good friend and one of my favorite people, is always saying, "Sometimes the same is different, but mostly it's the same." This sums up my returning-to-my-original-church experience. This is not the church or its peoples’ problem; it's mine and my incredible fear of "the same." I know I can't keep going to a new church every Sunday forever; I have to at least attempt to fit in somewhere, and the fact is, I think I may want to. But no worries, this isn't the end of the exploration, just a re-cap. Besides, I may not live until next Sunday, I ate so many darn jellybeans.

As for the service at Burke Community Church, I can tell you it was nice and well done. Though I am not allowed to say much more, I reckon. As we were driving home I innocently compared one of the songs to a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and was told by my mother, "No. Just no. My church and I like it." And to give it a rest or something of that sort. But I mean it, it was a nice service. A usual Easter one, do you know what I mean? Honestly though, that's alright. It is good to hear the resurrection story, to sing praise, remind and revive your heart, mind, and soul of the simple yet life-changing/saving news. Right, no preaching. I am not here to preach; you can go to church and hear all about this news I speak of. That's right, I, Sally Grace, am suggesting going to church. Don't write it off because of one (or several) specific ones and experiences. As I counted flowered dresses and khaki guy pants today, I thought about the different churches I've been to. It continues to wow me how utterly different each is; I can't help but marvel at the beauty. All so different - the people, the music, the atmosphere, the customs, the traditions and etiquette, the vibe, the presentations. But boil it down, and they are gatherings of human beings trying to discover a God, follow a Savior, and understand The Why. "Sometimes the same is different, but mostly it's the same."

Much as I actually didn't mind attending the service and pondering over my newly gained perspectives on God's fan club, I still am not sure if I am part of that group. Indeed I am a fan of God, but the club part? Not so much. After I got home I changed out of the high heels and red dress (oh man that’s a Jonas Brothers lyric, just shoot me now) into jean cut-offs and a Converse All Star tee. We went to Great Falls and I went on a long walk through the woods, mostly barefoot, peace love and granola man. Call me a grape nut, but it's out there I feel the most grateful for God's gift of eternal life; in all that natural beauty I see that he is real and good. It is there my heart really sings praise. Not to mention my off key little voice box. I want to leave you with my number one favorite praise song of all time. I find it good to sing when walking along a breezy mountain ridge, chasing waves into the sunset, searching for all natural shampoo in Wal-Mart, you name it I sing it. It is from some commercial a few years back on the Discovery Channel. I suppose it's called Boom De Yada, though in these parts we call it "Sally’s Song" or "SALLY SING SOMETHING ELSE FOR ONCE." Enjoy, and Happy Easter. Oh, since I'm getting all sappy and sentimental anyway, let me say thank-you for reading. Don't get me started how much it means. I honestly didn't believe anyone would read this. I figured it would help me organize my thoughts and keep track of each, and I just like to write, hone my skills, and attempt to semi-amuse Rachel. As she said, "People like us, they really like us!" So thanks, the comments and all mean a lot, such a blessing and encouragement. Now I will cease rambling before you decide to quit following. Song time.

Astronaut 1: It never gets old, huh?
Astronaut 2: Nope.
Astronaut 1: It kinda makes you wanna...
Astronaut 2: Break into song?
Astronaut 1: Yep.
I love the mountains.
I love the clear blue skies.
I love big bridges.
I love when great whites fly.
I love the whole world.
And all its sights and sounds.
Boom De Yada!
I love the ocean.
I love real dirty things.
I love to go fast.
I love Egyptian kings.
I love the whole world
And all its craziness
Boom De Yada!
I love tornadoes.
I love arachnids.
I love hot magma.
I love the giant squids.
I love the whole world.
It's such a brilliant place.
Boom De Yada.