Sandra Heska King

daring to open doors

  • Home
  • About
  • DISCLOSURES
    • Amazon Affiliate
    • Book Reviews
  • Published
  • Contact
  • Blog
    • Commit Poetry
    • Dared

In Which I Need Easter Every Day

April 9, 2012 By Sandra Heska King

 

I sit in my mother’s place at the vinyl-covered table, and it feels strange.

One day I serve my dad scrambled eggs, and on another he serves me a fried egg.

I ask how he makes it so perfect, and he shows me how he baptizes it with water and covers it with a lid.

We toss the cracked white tombs in the trash.

I remind him to take his medicines, check his heart monitor, and change his pain patch for him. We discuss why he might have fallen and gaze at the remaining puddle of dried blood on the sidewalk. He rather likes it there. Likes to point it out, shake his head and wonder.

My sister and I worry about his headaches, so I run him to the emergency room for a CT scan. We take him to bingo one night (the night his back hurt so badly he didn’t sleep a wink), and we make a grocery run.

But mostly simple days of watching and waiting.

Quiet in a lot of ways.

In spite of the TV that blares 24/7 while I sleep snooze on the couch and watch him toss and turn on the floor where he’s slept for years.

In spite of the need to yell over the din of a police show because he hasn’t put his hearing aids in.

I miss Holy Week activities, but by Saturday I feel safe enough to leave him and head home.

Though by the time I arrive, I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want to take a shower and then run to the store to shop for Easter dinner. I barely acknowledge that my husband spent the day vacuuming and washing floors and cleaning bathrooms or that he made the bed with the pillows and the shams perfectly set.

I’m grumpy.

I don’t sleep well on my Tempur-Pedic in our quiet, darkened bedroom.

And by morning, I’m still more grumpy.

I think about everything I have want to do before family arrives for after-church dinner.

Not that it’s fancy. Just burgers and dogs and beans and salads–potato and pasta.

So I rise while it’s still dark and stuff eggs and baskets and continue the food preparations that I stopped a few hours ago when my tongue dragged the floor, and I get the grand girls around and ready and fed.

And I leave the grumps at home.

We smile big and feast on delectable sweets and sing our alleluias.

And one boy smashes an egg during the children’s sermon and discovers it empty.

But those grumps, they’re waiting for me when I get back.

I pull rotten vegetables from the drawer, and the cuke upchucks itself all down the front of the fridge, leaves a trail across the floor, and then baptizes the side of the trash can.

Gracee gags.

I peel uncolored hard-boiled eggs and toss the cracked empty tombs in the trash.

I bang around the kitchen trying to stay on my schedule. And my son arrives earlier than I told him to, and his mother-in-law brings a rose plant and a giant bowl of fruit salad, and I’m glad, but I’m focused on mixing dressing, and I know she’d love to help, and she reaches for a bowl I’ve lifted, but I snatch it away (I didn’t mean to snatch), and my son tells me to relax and tells her to just let me be, and my daughter tells me I’m not being very friendly.

And guilt takes my chef’s knife and pierces my heart.

How quickly I throw the cross away.

And how easily I throw the empty tomb away.

I need Jesus to walk right through the kitchen wall and shalom me over the chopped celery and sliced tomatoes and can of black olives.

Because for goodness sake, I can’t even behave like it’s Easter on Easter.

Which is precisely why I need Good Friday.

Every day.

Which is precisely why I need Easter.

Every day.

Which is precisely why I need Him.

Every day.

And why I’m grateful that He took my place.

Counting Gifts

My favorite tree in full pink bloom.

The yellow finch perched in the pink blooms of my favorite tree.

A robin splashing in the bird bath on Easter morning.

My husband. Nuff said.

My dad’s rapid recovery.

That the littlest grand girl has completed her rabies series.

A newly bat-proofed house.

An oldest grand girl’s poetry.

Rhubarb bread.

A mountain of clothes that need washing.

The Resurrection.

On In Around button

Share this:

  • Email
  • Print
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Pinterest

Filed Under: Blog, stories

Comments

  1. Aisling Beatha says

    April 9, 2012 at 3:49 pm

    I remember my father’s own patch of dried blood on the sidewalk, right outside my house. It was still there when his fiancee brought him over to retrieve his car later in the week (no way I was letting him drive it home with concussion). She got so wound up over that blood still being there. I saw it more like your dad sees his, made me look and wonder.

  2. Sheila Seiler Lagrand says

    April 9, 2012 at 4:13 pm

    Different details, same conclusion.

    Me too, Sandy. Me, too.

  3. S. Etole says

    April 9, 2012 at 4:40 pm

    Don’t we all … always.

  4. Nikole Hahn says

    April 9, 2012 at 5:13 pm

    “I pull rotten vegetables from the drawer, and the cuke upchucks itself all down the front of the fridge, leaves a trail across the floor, and then baptizes the side of the trash can.”

    Sorry, this made me laugh and admire at the same time the play of words. I have moments like that when company is an intrusion, and all I want to do is see no one, but crawl into my little cave of blankets and settle into that deep, dark place just for a little while. Oh, and eat chocolate. Lots of chocolate.

  5. Dea Moore says

    April 9, 2012 at 7:53 pm

    And this is “precisely” why He did what He did for us—-why I need his grace everyday, I need my heart restored everyday, I need to be lifted up everyday. I thought I might get over it but it seems to be chronic.

  6. Amy @ themessymiddle says

    April 9, 2012 at 8:50 pm

    Yes, yes, yes. It’s something about the blood, isn’t it? The blood of parents, kids, a savior. I need Easter everyday too!

  7. Lynn Mosher says

    April 9, 2012 at 9:39 pm

    Praying for you, sweetie! And saying a prayer for your dad’s total recovery. Blessings to you1

  8. imperfect prose says

    April 9, 2012 at 10:00 pm

    oh, dear sandra. baptising the eggs… those white tombs… the way you see with easter eyes, even amidst the grumps. this is beautiful and real. thank you.

  9. Jennifer@GDWJ says

    April 9, 2012 at 10:58 pm

    You found the words that I merely groped for. I understand. I hear you. I get you. I feel this one. Oh friend … I am so grateful for you. You minister to me with your words and your truth.

    Love you.

  10. diana says

    April 10, 2012 at 12:56 am

    This is so, so real and hard and glorious and true. OF COURSE you are grumpy. Of course, you are. It’s been a heckuva six months, honey. Holey moley, it has. And yes, you and I and everyone else on this planet needs Jesus every single minute of every single day. But give yourself a little space for the grumps, friend. And thank your husband for the clean house and hug on those gorgeous girls and put your feet up somewhere and just breathe, breathe, breathe. And a nap, that would be really good, too. I took a two hour one today- wow – heaven.

  11. Shelly Miller says

    April 10, 2012 at 8:20 am

    Sandy, I ditto Diana and I am thinking that we have entered Eastertide, a time of extended grace and celebration and I pray you experience it in all its glory. Because yes, we do need Easter every day. Every day my friend. Love your honesty, it makes me feel better.

  12. wolfsrosebud says

    April 10, 2012 at 8:55 am

    so loved the hand print cross project…

  13. Lyn Cooke says

    April 10, 2012 at 1:43 pm

    Oh Sandy! My Easter Sunday was “interesting” too. So gald to have found you sweet sister!

  14. Megan Willome says

    April 10, 2012 at 5:06 pm

    I love this because it’s so real. Some Easters are like this. In a future one, when you are able to attend every service, you will remember this one, with all its failures. And that Easter will mean even more.

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Flickr
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • RSS
  • Twitter

Meet Sandra

I’m Sandra, a camera-toting, recovering doer who’s learning to be. still. Read more…

Get updates from the stillness by email

Your personal information is safe and will never be shared.

Archives

Categories

Instagram Inspiration

sandraheskaking

A tale of two iguanas... I did not see the iguana A tale of two iguanas... I did not see the iguana in the background until I downloaded the photos. That, I believe, is the one that got caught in one of the openings in the neighbor's chain link fence. We tried in several (safe) ways to dislodge it without luck and could think of no other option but to leave it. Somehow it apparently dislodged itself. We also believe this is the pair that was getting into another neighbor's garden. We haven't seen either one since the last cold snap, so we are wondering if they survived. 
🌱
Thinking some may have tumbled from their perches last night. Pretty sure it will be raining iguanas tonight since we are under a frost advisory. It's cold. And windy.
Just sing... sing a song... Singing our way into Just sing... sing a song... 

Singing our way into the weekend.
"We don't just see. We learn to see." ~ Russ Ramse "We don't just see. We learn to see." ~ Russ Ramsey in Rembrandt is in the Wind
Now you see me... now you don't. Now you see me... now you don't.
"I started looking and listening. I realized that "I started looking and listening. I realized that work, like life, is shot through with poetry. It was everywhere. I was so taken with what I discovered that I wrote a book about it." @gyoung9751 
🌱
Whether you work in an office, a retail store, a restaurant, or at home... Whether you work on roads or on power lines, or on high buildings...Whether you collect trash or preach sermons, or care for your kiddos. Whether you do art, or weave words, or take photos of a common gallinule AKA moorhen AKA swamp chicken--it's all shot through with poetry.
🌱
So pay attention. Find a poem.
🌱
Read more at https://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2023/01/10/its-poetry-at-work-day-2023/
Rising… Rising…
Everyone needs a little balance in life. And maybe Everyone needs a little balance in life. And maybe a beauty routine. And breakfast. Especially breakfast. I wonder if it consists of a few fire ants. I hope so. (Well, not mine. I'm having oatmeal with chia seeds. What are you having this morning?)
🌱
P.S. Happy Friday!
"Though your destination is not yet clear You can "Though your destination is not yet clear You can trust the promise of this opening; Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning That is at one with your life's desire." ~John O'Donohue 
🌿
A blessing for a new beginning in a new year. I'm sure he wrote it especially for me. At least I'm claiming it. Maybe it will speak to you, too.
🌿
Also, I'd really like this skirt --> 
🌿
Read the whole poem--> -->
🌿
Well, bummer... The whole page didn't print. Read it in the comments below.
"What precocity, a bird half the size Of an Anjou "What precocity, a bird half the size
Of an Anjou pear." ~ Stephen Kuusisto in "The Mockingbird on Central" (Find it in The Poets Guide to the Birds edited by Judith Kitchen and Ted Kooser)
🌱
"The morning pages are the primary tool of creative recovery." ~ Julia Cameron in The Artist's Way. 
🌱
I've been in a long creative drought, so I started morning pages--again. This time I've got a bit of an accountability group through @refineretreat's Refinery--which I finally also joined this year. I'll turn 74 this month. I'm not ready to grow old while I age--though everything does seem to take longer while time goes by faster.
🌱
#aweandwonder #tsaweandwonder
Tonight’s walk in the neighborhood. I’m still Tonight’s walk in the neighborhood. I’m still kinda amazed that out of all the places we could have ended up after moving from a place I said I’d never move from), here we are—planted right next to the northern Everglades. Six-plus years, and I still shake my head in wonder.
"So fancy is the world..." ~ Mary Oliver in "This "So fancy is the world..." ~ Mary Oliver in "This World." #aweandwonder #tsaweandwonder
Look, Mom! I can walk on water! #aweandwonder #tsa Look, Mom! I can walk on water! #aweandwonder #tsaweandwonder
Gazing into 2023 like… Let’s take it step by Gazing into 2023 like… 
Let’s take it step by step with hope and courage. Also I hope to be posting again more often.
🎉
Happy New Year!
The morning before the last morning of 2022. 🌴 The morning before the last morning of 2022. 
🌴
71 degrees. Heading to 83. I can live with that.
From the top of Brasstown Bald—the highest point From the top of Brasstown Bald—the highest point in Georgia at 4784 feet.
Winding roads… Winding roads…
Tonight's moon. It's kinda okay. Tonight's moon. It's kinda okay.
Don’t mind me. Just storking by. Don’t mind me. Just storking by.
I’ve gotten several messages asking if things we I’ve gotten several messages asking if things were okay. Yes. I’ve recovered after 3 weeks in Covid jail. Also, I’ve been a bit scarce on social cuz we’ve been finishing up house renovations, and there is SO much that now needs to be cleaned and stuff put away. Also, we’ve had the second oldest grand with us for two weeks. I “should have” at least shared some stories about our adventures, but we’ve relished the time and kept busy. One can’t leave South Florida without a gator encounter, though, right? Tomorrow the two of us fly back to Michigan, and then I will spend a week with my sister where I expect I will be put to work in the chicken house and the gardens and become a glad(iola) roadside proprietor for a day at the Four Star in while she and my BIL attend a family reunion. I’ll also get to see my dad in the nursing home and spend a couple nights with my daughter. D will hold down the fort here. Then maybe by the first of next month, I’ll be able to finish putting things in order, breathe, find some writing space and get back to normal. Whatever that is.
I tossed and turned all night. And then the storm I tossed and turned all night. And then the storm started. I finally got up about 5ish and sat outside to watch. Until a couple mosquitoes found me. Also, the jasmine hadn’t gone to bed yet and smelled heavenly.
Load More... Follow on Instagram

Get the Mug

Embrace the life you have t s poetry mug

Privacy Policy

Full privacy policy is available HERE.

I Read Light

TSP-Red button

bibledude-net



Sponsor a Child

Join the Compassion Blogger Network

[footer_backtotop]

Copyright © 2023 Sandra Heska King · Site by The Willingham Enterprise, LLC on the Genesis Framework by StudioPress · Log in