Easter when I was a child

It hit me from out of nowhere this morning as I began to unload the dishwasher.

Tomorrow is Easter, and I am missing my childhood.

Growing up, I never wanted to grow up. My grandparents all lived in Arkansas, so my parents and I would pack up the car and drive the seven hours to see them. We went at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter.

Packing for the Easter trip was special because I had to bring my new Easter dress, spring coat, white shoes, and my Easter basket.

The egg hunt was always held on the big front lawn of my grandparent's home, a house built by my great-grandfather in 1900. In the cool, misty morning I'd run out with my cousins to search for the eggs among the jonquils and tall grass around the trees and along the front of the house.

We always dyed eggs the night before. My grandmother would put on a big pot of boiling water to boil them and then we'd all gather around the table to use those messy little wire egg holders to dunk our eggs. The older cousins were more patient, and they let their eggs sit long enough to take on deep jewel-toned hues. The younger ones, including me, were so anxious to be done with the dyeing that we ended up with pastel colors. We always tried to put on those egg tattoos so we'd have cute pictures on the eggs, but they always smeared.

Sometimes I spent Easter with my mother's parents at the big house. Sometimes I spent it at my dad's mother's house.

There, it was just my parents, my grandmother, and me so my mom would hide eggs in Grandma's living room for me to find. I always got an Easter basket full of wonderful things -- little toys, a new stuffed bunny or duck, sometimes a book or art supplies.

My grandmother was a lay reader in the town's Christian Science church so we'd get dressed up and go with her. Seems like we always sang the Martin Luther hymn, "All Power is Given Unto Our God" at some point in the service.

To this day, when I hear that hymn I see my little Dutch grandmother standing up at the front of the church singing.

It's been nearly 20 years since she passed, and I still miss her.

My other grandparents are gone now, too. So's my dad.

And I find myself in the role of grownup, preparing my own four children to celebrate the holiest day in the Christian calendar.

We've got the baskets, we'll dye the eggs, we'll go to church and we'll sing of Easter gladness.

I'll fight back the tears for a childhood long gone, and focus instead on the hope my own children represent, and on the great hope of which Easter reminds us -- that life IS eternal for those who follow Christ Jesus and that some day I'll see my dad and my grandparents again.

"And ye now therefore have sorrow; but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you." (John 16:22)