Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

Every Easter Sunday morning, my husband, Tink, doesn’t crawl out of bed to attend Sunrise Service.

He jumps out of bed, dresses, then leans over to kiss me goodbye. “I’ll be back to get you for church,” he says softly.

“OK,” I mumble while pulling the covers up to my chin and going back to sleep. There once was a time when I fell asleep easily and slept beautifully. Those times disappeared about 10 years ago. I rarely fall asleep before 4 a.m. — though the last time a blood moon was to appear, I stayed awake past my bedtime and went out at 6 a.m. to see the haunting moon.

Wouldn’t you know? The sky was covered in clouds. Since I missed my 4 a.m. sleep time, I couldn’t go to sleep.

Tink, though, is up early every day. then takes his coffee to the office and has, as he calls it, “My Jesus time.” He studies the Bible for an hour or two every day and is well-read on every word the Good Book says.

It is a beautiful thing to behold: Easter Sunrise Service. There, on a hill in the graveyard where a huge cross stands triumphant, scriptures will be read, a couple of songs sung, and a prayer said as the sun rises in the east.

Outside the rural South, people might chuckle at the thought of gathering in a graveyard for the beginning of Easter Sunday. There is significance in that. As Christians, worldwide, we celebrate the Resurrection of Jesus Christ following three days in the grave. The Bible says that He will return to gather His children, splitting the Eastern sky. All graves, at least where I come from, face the East because, as it is written, the dead in Christ shall rise when He returns.

As I was writing this, I took a break and passed by a beautiful cross that is about two feet high and was crafted by my nephew, Rod.

There is a story to that.

Daddy was made out of pure common sense. Every fiber of his body was pumped with “good ol’ common horse sense,” as the Appalachian folks say. On a small cattle farm he owned, he built a two-story barn and installed rails off a box truck so he could drive his truck up into the loft where he would load or unload hay. A trained engineer could not have done a better job. It stood for over 50 years.

Then, a bad windstorm came through almost two years ago and blew the barn down. It was heartbreaking to see: all the wood stubble and ripped tin from the roof. I am, regrettably, sentimental.

The loss of anything that connects me to my beloved parents painfully haunts my heart.

Tink and I stood, looking at the rubble. While tears filled my eyes, Tink shook his head in disbelief.

“Your Daddy was a smart man.

How he built this barn was genius.” He walked around the debris.

“Wow.”

One day, Rod brought us some hay for our horses and delivered a remarkable cross that he had fashioned from the barn’s wood and tin. He had made several and, to be honest, it helped the heartbreak of the barn’s loss.

Quite a while ago, a tornado came through on Easter weekend.

The damage scattered through our small town was unspeakable.

Homes laid flat, chicken houses blown away, trees plucked up and whimpering their last bit of life.

I cried.

I did not think that it could be beautiful again and that life was changed forever. I was wrong.

Trees have sprung up in gorgeous array, homes and farms rebuilt.

Even those of us who witnessed that tornado’s severity cannot remember how scarred the town was that Easter weekend. The memory has been cast into the sea of forgetfulness.

Resurrection, as witnessed in a small Southern town, is powerfully beautiful. A bit like Calvary.

Ronda Rich is the bestselling author of the Stella Bankwell mystery series. Visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for her free newsletter.