The Big Doors and the Ragamuffin Gang

 

 

My maternal grandpa, Charlie Camp was a bit of a character who divorced my grandma when my mom was just five a teenager. He was not your typical grandpa with hugs and kisses but was an occasional figure in my life. We had our annual picnic at his house and Christmas Eve was a given. I do remember that he told me I was pretty and told my mom in front of me that I would be Miss America someday. I believed him too and waited but no beauty pageant was ever in my future. He always had nice things in his house and my rowdy brothers made things tense when we visited. I remember a visit when my grandpa and his wife had just gotten a new couch typical for the fifties. It was bluish gray with silver threads that made it sparkle in the sun. My brothers had been outside rolling down the big hill in his yard and when they sat down, leaves and mud was deposited on the new bluish gray couches and a trail of footprints starting at the front door made their way through the house.

On one occasion, my grandpa and his wife wanted to take us to church on Easter Sunday. I don’t know if they were regular church attenders or not but this Sunday we were going. They took us shopping for new clothes a few days before Easter, I am sure we would have been ragamuffins without the new Easter outfits. I wore a new dress with one of those fancy coats and my twin brothers sported new suits with checkered bow ties. 

We were quite spiffy in our new duds as we approached the huge doors of the uptown church. The towering doors opening was the last thing I remember about that Easter Sunday. I do not remember a Sunday School class with other children and a friendly teacher, or treats to welcome us, my memory is blank past the doors. I cannot remember ever wearing the new dress again nor did I ever see the checkered tie that decorated my brother’s necks. I wish I could remember more but it is not there. I do recall an awkward conversation many years later with my grandpa when I thanked him for taking us.

I wonder if as an adult, I sometimes do the same? If new dresses, suits and bunny baskets occupy my   day more than the reason we celebrate. Sometimes I am guilty of thinking about the ham and sweet potatoes baking in the oven and the special preparations for the Sunday meal? Will other things deprived me of tender moments when we can almost see Christ and know HE IS ALIVE. Can I raise my hand in praise as we sing, “Christ Alone?” As we began praying for our Easter service at church weeks previous, our prayer was always that Jesus would be seen, heard, and felt by the congregation on this special day of reverence. In holy remembrance of the Resurrection of our Christ on which our hope is fastened I pray our hearts will linger in wonder past the doors of the church. HE IS ALIVE, HE IS ALIVE! HALLELUJAH! HE IS ALIVE!