Easter Sunday is a pretty big event every year for my family. For as long as I can remember we would get up early, get dressed in our pastel and floral attire, eat a big breakfast, and head off to church. Afterwords we all came home and prepared to either go to a family friend’s house or invite people to eat at our house. We always put out a butter lamb. We always cut off the head.
This year I did not intentionally decide not to go to Easter service. But I am hundreds of miles away from my home and from family traditions. I’m not sure it would even have felt like a holiday, had I not received this in the mail:
