The Easter Grinch

I would not call myself a family person.  Believe me, I am fully aware that this makes me sound like I have a heart full of stone, but that’s not exactly what I mean.  I have a pretty large family, not just in my four siblings and four parental units, but also in my extended family on both sides.  Not only is the family large, but most of them (both immediate and extended) live in or near the small town where I grew up.

Needless to say, I grew up surrounded by people, especially at holidays.  Most holidays had little more meaning than a lot of food and a lot of people, and I looked forward to them only so I could eat as much dessert as I wanted and listen to relatives comment on how tall I was getting (a source of never-ending pride to my young self). 

However, my parents especially are not overly emotional people, preferring instead to just quietly support whatever I wanted to do.  So it was that when the time came to move to Chicago for college, there were a few tears of course, but mostly I felt free to move on.  I called whenever I felt it was time, and I didn’t give in to the lonely feelings of homesickness because I knew it was only a matter of time before I saw them again.

All that background leads me into a story.  Rewind to this time last week, and I was a grumpy mess.  Easter was coming, and we had no family around to celebrate with.  As previously mentioned, I’m used to big gatherings full of small talk and too much food, and the idea of spending a holiday with just the hubdubalub and me was just plain depressing, to be honest.  If ever there were an Easter Grinch, it would have to be me.  I guess I’m more of a family person than I had realized…

Anyway, I wasn’t fun to be around.  Every time I thought of Sunday, I got sad and lonely and made snide comments about it being “just the two of us” with a sour look on my face, as if I could think of nothing worse than spending time with the love of my life.  Please pity the husband-man, he could use it!

As the week rolled on, I decided I was going to slap Easter in the face and make it wonderful and memorable and delicious even if it was -sigh- just the two of us.  I bought a feast and picked out a pretty Easter outfit and pretended to be happy when in fact I was still quite grumbly about it all.

There I was in church Easter morning in my pretty outfit with the menu all planned for the afternoon, and something began gnawing on me.  Church is so darn good at bringing out those feelings, the ones we call “convictions” in Christianese.  As the sermon progressed, it began to sink in that Easter is the epitome of joy, the one day where the entire foundation of my life is proved victorious.  He is risen! the church sang, and my heart began to rise with Him.

If ever there was a day to be truly joyful, it is Easter Sunday, my friends.  I was so self-centered and self-pitying that I had completely overlooked the reason we gather to celebrate: that my Savior conquered death for my sake and has risen to live among us.  My oh my did I feel small as I realized that those very selfish thoughts are the kind that remind me how needy I am, how desperate for the grace offered in Christ’s victory over the cross.

After all the sadness leading up to it, this Easter was good, dear readers.  We did feast.  We did enjoy sunshine and special desserts.  But above all we worshipped, full of true joy and admiration for a God who never gives up on the Grinches of the world. 

Haley's Here!

Today is a good day!  My sister and best friend gave birth to a beautiful baby girl!  Generally speaking, I think newborn babies are creepy and wrinkled and look like aliens, but for some reason this one is an exception. :)

Today is by far the hardest day to be away from my family, and looking at all the pictures being posted of this little baby makes my heart ache.  I've pretty much just sat here all day glued to my phone and Facebook waiting for someone to post another picture.  But I get to go see her in a couple of weeks, and I'll get some time with her all to myself!

I waaaas really hoping she'd be a redhead, because redheaded little girls are possibly the cutest thing ever invented, but I guess she'll do. :)

So proud of my sister and excited for her and her husband as they begin a brand-new phase of their life together!

Pizza Mishaps

Anyone who has ever been in love knows there are moments where you just know it's the real deal.  Here’s one of mine back when my hub hub and I were dating.

Some context, please.  For as long as I can remember, I have had a very weird relationship with food.  I am (was?) incredibly picky, and it’s something I hate talking about even know.  I have dealt with so many jabs and snide comments about my eating habits that I lost count years and years ago.  Why not just force myself to eat more variety, you ask?  Fabulous question, and here’s your fabulous answer: I couldn’t.  For some reason, my gag reflex is triggered very easily, and it’s somewhat unpredictable.  Sometimes it’s the smell that gets me, other times it’s the texture, or most often, the taste.  

The worst part is that there’s no reason or rhyme to it.  I don’t like tomatoes, but I’ll dip my fries in ketchup any day.  I don’t like sour cream and onions are my mortal enemy, but I love sour cream and onion potato chips.  Just shrug along with me friends, I don’t get it either.

This makes me hard to cook for, and I’ve turned down many a dinner invitation for fear of the menu.  I feel embarrassed and ashamed every time I have to ask someone what’s in a dish.  I’ve gotten angry, lied about not being hungry, and cried over it later.  Psychologists do your thing, because something about this whole issue goes deep emotionally for me.

So here I was with my soon-to-be hubnub, out to pizza with my grandma and aunts visiting from out of town.  We were at Gino’s East, about to devour what can only be known as the best pizza on the planet.  I greedily snatched my piece onto my plate and began scraping off the large chunks of tomato so I could get to the gooey cheese and perfectly spiced pepperoni underneath.  As I scraped, the dreaded barb came:

“Mitch, I’m not sure how you do it.  Isn’t that embarrassing to you?”

I felt the shame flood my body as I cautiously turned my eyes to my knight, who responded:

“I don’t find it embarrassing at all.  It’s just who she is.”

As I reflect on this now, almost 2 years later, it’s really so indicative of who we are as a couple.  No, he didn’t come up with some romantic swoon-worthy answer, but instead quietly defended me and protected me at my most vulnerable.  

Though I complain sometimes about his lack of romance, he is the most solid, steady, and loyal man I have ever met.  And this was one of the moments, no matter how insignificant it may seem, where I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this man could care for me the rest of my life.