Indelible Marks

Easter leaves it mark, I rubbed my hand raw and still there are remnants of color under my nails and soaked into my cuticles. I guess it could be worse. I remember another church service with stained fingers. I had raced to Mass right from the police station, up since 5am, and needed to make the last service of the day. This was before electronic or digital capturing of fingerprints. When you were fingerprinted they rolled each fingertip across a purply black stamp pad and then rolled the print on to a white card marked off with small boxes. That ink took forever to wear off. Timing again was off, when I was a kid you didn't use your hands for communion, had this been true my ink stained digits would have remained my secret, but this was post Vatican II and we receive with our hands. I didn't really think about it till I placed my hands up to receive the host at least 8 suspicious looking tips are visible. Father, bless his heart, never said a word, only the merest flicker of a raised eyebrow, at why his some what disheveled junior high catechist looked like she had been recently fingerprinted. I never did explain, just let them wonder.

But this year it is only egg dye that marks me and many mothers at church on Easter morning. My mother got to wear gloves for a lot of those early years, nobody could tell who the egg dyers were back then. But our life activities are now out there for all to see. When you have children there really are no secrets in your house, and technology pushes that to a whole new level, they share with the world now instead of their third grade teacher. And what do we bring to the world this Easter? Not enough I am afraid. Our Easter prep and lenten promises were all cluttered up with thoughts of moving and somewhat less than sacred. I even skipped "Re-lent" our churches weekly prayer meetings organized for the season, feeling there wasn't enough time this year.

Fortunately for me even our messy half-done attempts somehow become not only acceptable but glorious at that vigil, and we regardless of preparation are given 50 days to celebrate. Aching hearts are soothed, anxiety ridden minds are calmed, and life moves in a better direction, seldom the one I planned but something better. So we celebrate, life and learning and each other, grateful for our abundance. And though preparation was haphazard we now have more than enough to share, and move forward to bring our gifts to the world, allowing Him to use our rainbow stained hands. Happy Easter!