For as long as I can remember, Easter was about finding the perfect dress.
The perfect shoes.
The tights.
Sometimes even little white gloves and precious white hats.
When Easter was coming every year, my sister and I have fond memories of dressing our best. We acted like debutantes. It felt so special every year to put on that new dress that my mother had carefully selected for us or my grandmother had carefully found and sent to us in the mail.
Easter was a special day and it required a certain kind of sprucing up. It wasn’t every day that a girl could put on white gloves, tights, a new smocked dress, fancy shoes and go to a fancy dinner in someone’s dining room. Easter was special day. Even when I was little my outfit told me Easter Sunday was the most important Sunday morning of the whole year. Debutante dresses were only for Easter. Oh dear those little gloves. And my sister in that hat. (Sorry, Ab, I think your eyes are closed in that one.)
Even as teenagers, Easter was an opportunity to wear a special dress. After my mother had passed away my father was kind enough to see that this whole tradition of the proper dress was important. You can see my sister and I lost the white gloves and the white tights but as we grew but we still had that dress and we were still heading to my aunt’s house for Easter dinner after Easter Service on that very important Sunday morning.
I am thankful for the gift of being able to have a new dress every Easter Sunday, as I know that is not everyone’s story. But new dress or not, for me the careful selection of the shoes, the dress, those white gloves and the hat every year marked that spring Sunday as an important one.
For as long as I can remember, Easter was about the dress. There was importance in that smocking and those white gloves for me when I was a little girl. It gave me a feeling of reverence for the Sunday of Easter before I even knew what reverence meant.
Even before I knew the power that could be found in the meaning of Easter, I found myself dressing up like it was the most important thing all year. On Easter Sunday I was able to dress and feel like I was a royal, precious princess right down to those sweet little gloves. I was carefully and especially dressed and waiting – longing for the good news of Easter Sunday to fall onto my ears and change my heart.
And now, as a grown mother of four I still have this part of me that wants to choose a special outfit each spring for the very special Sunday of Easter. That special Sunday when Jesus conquered death by rising from the dead, making it possible for me too to conquer death if I simply believe in the power of the Resurrection.
I still fuss over those very important outfits for my four young ones because Easter Sunday is something special and worth pulling out the white gloves and the debutante dresses.
I love lingering by the nursery counter and the preschool rooms too- a little longer- on Easter Sunday morning so I can see all the other little precious dresses, bow ties and shiny spring church shoes. All those little people dressed and waiting- longing to know why they are dressed up like this Sunday is the most important Sunday of the year.
Even when Easter was simply about the selection of a dress it gave me the tangible evidence that Easter was an important day. The pulling on of the white tights, the putting on of the smocked dress and the finishing touches of those fancy gloves and hats.
On Easter Sunday, the tomb was empty. That is important. An empty tomb sure is worth pulling out the white gloves for.
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Anyone else have pictures or memories like these?
Rachel Craddock 