Why I Love Jesus, But Hate Easter

3 Apr

I will never forget Easter of 2013. My children were three and five and I was so excited to take them to their very first Easter egg hunt. I never really understood why kids hunted for eggs or why some creepy life size rabbit wandered around having kids sit on his lap, but I wanted them to experience the white picket fence Easter every child deserved. The morning started off with me trying to get a crying three year old into an incredibly itchy white dress and bribing my five year old to wear a bow tie and long sleeve shirt despite the unseasonably warm temperatures we were having.

Little did I know, the morning of flying bow ties and tangled hair would really be the least of my worries.

After a breakfast of me hovering over them making sure they didn’t get syrup all over their brand new clothes we got them in the car RIGHT as nap time was supposed to start and headed off to a park twenty minutes south of our house. Our three year old fell asleep exactly four minutes before we arrived at said park and awoke to my husband silently cursing as he navigated the stream of cars all trying to cram into two parking lots. Something about 100 parking spots and 500 cars trying to compete for spots tends to bring out the worst in people.

We should have known then that we needed to turn around and head home.

Twenty seven minutes later we found a spot a mile away from the park and made the long and daunting walk with fifty other families lugging strollers and cranky kids. What a Norman Rockwell afternoon it was shaping up to be. Once we got to the park I was wishing I had brought a flask of Everclear with me. It was something out of a horror movie. A quarter of a million snot nosed, cranky children hovered around a field filled with 125 Easter eggs as they foamed at the mouths. Over the loud speaker (and it was LOUD) they gave a countdown for when the bloodbath festivities were to begin.

Again, I should have turned around and gone home then.


It was almost in slow motion. Parents were screaming to their kids to get the most eggs. Other parents were giving last minute pep talks. Others cheated (yes CHEATED) and had their kids run onto the field before the hunt had even started. The horn blew and children were everywhere. Some got trampled as thirteen year olds rushed to get the eggs first. One boy lost his glasses (and later discovered them snapped in half by a tree). Toddlers were bawling, parents were yelling and my husband, kids, and myself all stood there in shock.

It was all over in a matter of seconds and the aftermath was horrific. All for some melted chocolate in 2 cent pastel eggs.

Ever since that day I have decided that I love Jesus, and hate Easter. Whoever decided that Easter should focus on some creepy rabbit and colorful cavity ridden eggs should be mauled by all of the kids that were crying on the side of the field. And all of the parents who coached their children to have such nasty attitudes should get the privilege of being a mall Easter bunny for a day.

As for me and my family? Easter at the grandparents house it is! And bye bye stuffy, uncomfortable clothes. Jesus loves us just as much in jeans and a t-shirt.

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