Easter Sunday

On Easter Sunday, I was five minutes late to the seven am sunrise service where my parents were ushering at the Lutheran Church that Could. I slid into the back row with them and I arrived during the first reading. There was light attendance. The preacher lives across the street from me in the condo association. He and his Mac preached the Top Ten Reasons Why We Should Believe in Easter sermon. We sat. We stood. We sang. We prayed. And then we offered.

They hustled up the aisle to receive the offering blessing and scuffled with a hand-hold for a few beats. From the cheap seats, in that moment I witnessed a relationship that spans 25 years, a mix of kids from different marriages and a few moves up and down California to settle in the desert with a big house and a wonderful backyard grandkids enjoy escaping my energetic sprinting white Boxer. I saw in that walk what I want to emulate in my own relationships – compromise and commitment. My mom has always taken her religious duties seriously, and my step-dad joined the church and finally caught up to her because he takes his love for her sincerely.

I moved from the lush life in Seattle to the dry, sometimes stagnant, desert life. I did it to be able to see where my parents usher and own a home on the same street as their pastor! I did it to play Yahtzee on a Thursday night and eat Turkey tacos on the weekend in their kitchen. I gave up Northwest liberalism and piercings and traded those in for a gun and a humidifier. It's a compromise and I am committed.