Easter Sunrise in the Hills of Red Bluff, CA

Two Women, Two Conversations, Two Circumstances

The Easter Sunrise at my brother’s place on the hills of Red Bluff is special. We sit on folding chairs or on blankets strewn on the ground on a hill with oak trees interspersed around us. People draw stadium blankets around their legs and arms to keep warm. It is a beautiful morning. Crisp and cool. The birds are singing profusely. We face the east to watch the sunrise. My brother and wife have invited the neighbors. Many have come. I’m there with my family and a friend.

My brother says a few words and then three readers read messianic passages. We sing a song led by my sister-in-law and her sister, as she plays the guitar, then three passages of Jesus’ words are read. We sing again, and then one more layer. The sun is coming up. We end with Morning Has Broken, one of my all time favorite songs. The sun is a full orb on the singing of the last verse. It is right on schedule. Thrilling. We appreciate the array of lavender to purple wildflowers resplendent among the grasses on the hill. There is a quietness in the air. We follow the trails down to the house where we will share a communal meal.

There I see a woman I met the year before and we begin to talk. She asks about my writing. I ask about her church. We talk family. We talk spiritual. We spend the rest of the early morning talking. She shares. I share. She reaches over and touches my hand and asks if she can pray for me. With her hand touching mine, she begins to pray for me, for the Easter morning, and all that Easter brings forth, pausing once in awhile for silent prayer with her Father God. It is a long prayer and I am blessed. The two of us have joined in the sweetness of spontaneous fellowship. She heard my heart, and she cared.

There is something beautiful in that. Today is another day. I promised I would meet with a friend of mine. She texts me and we determine a time and place. It feels slightly different this time. She is reticent. Lots has happened since we last met. I sense her need for assurance. She is quiet, reflective, close to tears as we skip topic to topic and then land on something that anchors our conversation. She’s been going through it with a lot on her plate, but she is learning the greater secret, what it is to trust in God when you cannot see the way. Although it is hard, she is stronger. I see this in her. And tell her so. There is a new calmness about her.

She faced an obstacle and met it with grace. The crisis did not defeat her. The joy of Jesus comes after the storm has passed. There is something about the storm that causes us to trust in God even when we lose heart. There is so much that causes us to fear and tremble because we know not the outcome. I see in my Christian sister’s eyes; the tears that brim when the heart feels its truth. I get that. God is close, with us, and alive and real. I am encouraged by her comments. Her words lift my spirit. I tell her she is in a metamorphosis and will soon become a butterfly. I believe it. The day has been full. Sweet. Gentle. Blessed.

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