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Friday, April 14,2017 Lake Oconee News Page A5 Still dressing up for Easter It’s funny how someone’s opinion or a story will stick with you, how it will trail like a mist of a cloud over your head. It’s a story that hasn’t changed my behavior but it certainly gives me pause to think of dressing for Easter in another way. Years ago, about 10 years, I believe, I was on St. Simons Island in my annual post-Christmas trip. As usual, I had toted a bag of books to read. One of them was a book called “Random Memories” by country music brothers Harold and Don Reid of the Statler Brothers. I enjoyed the book so much that I moved on to their second book, “Sunday Morning Memories” about growing up in picturesque Staunton, Virginia, and their memories of small town Sunday morning memories when church bells rang and people packed pews, all of them dressed in the Sunday best. Don Reid, a good Chris tian man, Sunday school teacher and elder in his Presbyterian church, wrote about Easter. The impor tance of Easter and how it stands for God’s greatest gift to mankind: the Cru cifixion of Christ and His Ronda Rich Dixie Divas Resurrection. Not new clothes. (Gulp). “I will never have a new suit for Easter,” he wrote. “I always intentionally wear an old suit. Easter is the celebration of the Resurrec tion, not new clothes.” I cleared my throat. I bit my lip. I tried to conjure up a sad conviction about the new dress, hat, or suit that I buy every Easter. In fact, the women in my family usually start immediately after Christmas, figuring out what they and their kids are going to wear. A couple of years ago, I was hosting everyone for a big meal and, while working in the kitchen, I overheard my Godmother, Mary Nell, say, “Easter is in March this year. So, it’ll probably be cold.” It was Thanksgiving. Try as I might, I could not feel bad about the new clothes which is the only time of year that I feel com pelled to buy something for a special occasion. It is not with joy that I shop for Easter clothes. It is with dread and a sense of duty because my Mama believed strongly in new Easter dresses. Perhaps the dread and duty that comes with it for me is recompense for the vanity. It’s more of a chore than a joy. As fate would have it, in the surprising way that back mountain roads in the Appalachians can, without explanation, cross the more civilized streets of a Shenandoah Valley town, the Tinkers have become dear friends with the Reids. It is one of those friendships that was meant to be. From the first time we broke bread, we knew we would be one of those chummy couples who share values and beliefs and enjoy swapping the same kind of stories. We love Don and Debbie. And though I admire him as one of country music’s greatest storytellers, I still cannot feel bad about buying a new Easter dress. I tried. We were visiting with the Reids in their home one night, admiring a painting that hung over the fireplace. Underneath the painting, on the mantle, stacked per fectly, were all the books that Don has written, in cluding “Sunday Morning Memories.” I smiled and told him how his story of wearing old Easter clothes had tapped on my heart and how often it crosses my mind. “I think about that story every time I shop for Easter clothes.” He smiled back, paused for a moment, then asked softly, “Well, do you still buy an Easter dress?” I laughed. “Yes. Every year.” “Good. That’s what you should do.” He’s right. I should. Because if I didn’t, I’d be letting down Mama. That, of course, is certainly not as important as the Resurrec tion but Mama still rules me from beyond the grave. Just like Christ does. May God bless your Easter. Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of What Southern Women Know. Please visit www.rond- arich.com to sign up for her free weekly newsletter. The tomb is indeed empty Dr. Jimmy Long Guest Columnist I remember well what Easter mornings were like in my hometown. We’d get up early - far earlier than I liked - get dressed and drive to the town cemetery just before sun up. There were a few families already gathered and more cars were being parked along the dirt trails that ran between the headstones. I remember that it was usually chilly enough I could see my breath. Little by little the crowd grew. There were, I suppose, 50 or so people there each Easter morning, gathered by a flatbed trailer holding a piano and a wooden speaker stand. Pastors from various churches in the commu nity took leadership in the planned sunrise service, and as the sun began to brighten the eastern sky, one of the pastors would declare, “He is risen.” The group would respond, “He is risen, indeed.” Then we sang songs about Jesus’ res urrection. There would be preaching, of course, and I seem to remember a re sponsive reading or two as part of the service. When the service ended, people shook hands or hugged. After exchanging pleasantries, we headed back to our vehicles and headed home. Some of my parents’ friends also came over to have breakfast. I can almost smell the eggs and sausage cooking. My mother made homemade biscuits. It was a feast, and everyone seemed so happy for that time of day. When the people left, we’d get ready and head off to Sunday School and church. It’s odd that I can’t really remember much about the rest of the day, but I remember the gathering at the cemetery. I remember the songs. I remember the joyful and certain decla ration, “He is risen!” And, of course, I remember the breakfast and the laughter in our house. In 2015, I had the op portunity to go to the Holy Land with a group from the Georgia Baptist Mission Board. It was an enlight ening time that enhanced my understanding of and appreciation for the stories found in the Bible. I got to see a shepherd tending his sheep on the hills around Bethlehem. I stood on a hill overlooking the Valley of Elah where David defeated Goliath. I was able to sail on the Sea of Galilee. We even had a storm come up while we were there. We walked the streets of Jerusalem imagining Jesus and His disciples walking along the same routes. I marveled at the ancient, gnarled olive trees that stood in Gethse- mane. I stood at the fortress walls of Masada picturing the Roman army encamped around it. It was a truly re markable time. One of the most special times was having a com munion service at the site of the Garden Tomb. We sang - and it was quite good since we were traveling with the Sons of Jubal and the Jubal- heirs, instrumentalists and chorus groups made of min isters of music and others involved in church music ministry. Dr. Robert White, the executive director of the Georgia Baptist Mission Board, shared a message of victory in the resurrection of Jesus. And I had the priv ilege of being one of those who served communion to those gathered. What a special time! When we had finished the service, we lined up to enter the Garden Tomb. There are two main sites that claim to be the burial place of Jesus. One is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the other is the Garden Tomb. Good arguments are made for both, but one thing is for sure, those who believe it is one or the other believe it passionately! It was, however, very moving to step through the opening into a small cave carved into the limestone and to see place where Jesus body may well have lain. But it only remained there for a short while. The Gospels tell us that on third day Jesus rose from the grave. In that act, He conquered death and the grave and opened the way for His followers to have eternal life in Him. That is the message the angel shared with women who came to the tomb that first Easter morning. It is the message that was declared those Easter mornings of my childhood. And it is the message that I have preached for nearly 30 years. It is the message posted on a sign on the door of the Garden Tomb, “He is not here - for He is risen.” I will, once again, be privileged to share the message of the resurrec tion this Easter with my church family at Grace Fel lowship. At 7 a.m. on that Sunday morning, I will look across the group gathered in the cool of the morning darkness and say boldly, “He is risen!” And to my ears will come the triumphant reply, “He is risen indeed!” Just like half a century before, we’ll shake hands and hug one another, we’ll sing songs of the resurrection, we’ll listen to a message of hope and we’ll get together for a breakfast, this time in the church building rather than my childhood home. Easter is a time of hope. It is a time of new beginnings for many...and it can be for you. If you have a church home, then go be with them. If you do not, Grace Fellowship is always ready to receive you. If 7 a.m. is a bit too early, then you’ll be comforted to know we have a special service planned at 10:30 a.m. as well. Feel free to come and discover the joy and hope that we know — a joy and hope centered in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Grace Fellowship is located at 1971 S. Main Street in Greensboro. It has small groups for all ages that meet at 9 a.m., a fellowship time at 10 a.m. and morning worship at 10:30 a.m. You do not have to wear dress clothes. In fact, most come in nice casual clothing. If you don’t find your way to Grace Fellowship, then be sure to join with a church family near you. fsnsunz LAKEFRONT MANSION Blairs ville, Georgia Private Luxury Retreat 298± Ft. Deep Water • 2 Family Rooms • 6 Bedrooms • 5 Full & 3 Half Baths • 2 Kitchens • Library/Office • Sun Room • 4 Fireplaces • 3-Car Garage • Gated Entrances • Gazebo with Hot Tub • Boat Slips with Electric Lifts & Sun Deck • Lake Nottely 1-800-504-3010 or (256) 547-3434 m www.NationalAuctionGroup.com The National Auction Group, Inc.® • P.O. Box 149 • Gadsden, AL 35902 Were paradise enow So, what’s your favorite season of the.... “Spring!” See, you can’t even wait for me to finish my question before the answer leaps right out of your mouth. Sure, summer has vaca tions and barbeque, and winter offers skiing, and fall owns the best colors. But spring, ahh spring is the most beautiful, most fragrant, most sensual, most unpredict able and most expressive season of the year. And it means exactly what it sounds like: coiled energy, released...boing, boing. Spring whispers its lusty ways with soft rain on a cool breeze, shouts with passion through lightning and thunder, and then seduces us with crocuses, dogwoods and cherry blossoms bursting with surprise. Ahh, spring. Meteorologists claim that the first day of spring arrives when the sun passes south to north through the equatorial plane, and that happened on March 20. Blah, blah, blah. Science can get a bit over-cooked, don’t ya’ think? Hey, it wasn’t Einstein who wrote, “In Spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of...divots and loft, and sliders and steals, and sandals and short swishy skirts.” It might not have been Lord Tennyson either, but it’s what he meant. After all, spring is the season of emotion, not calculation, and it arrives on either the day baseball starts for real, or the first Thursday in April on the shoulders of the 40,000 patrons surrounding the fairways and greens of Augusta National Golf Club. That day, Mr. Einstein, was April 6. It is a day so new it squeaks, and mine begins on the porch, breathing in pollen-free air with the gusto of a blacksmith’s bellows, sharing breakfast with Big El and listening to the lake. Perfect! Except for one little, tiny, itsy-bitsy hiccup: “How are we doing,” she asks, “on the taxes?” Like most Sovereigns, Big El employs the majestic plural “We” when she means “You.” I deftly parry with, “Taxes?” “Not yet.” “But almost.” She raises her scepter... “Look, I’ll call Katherine (tax gal) tomorrow”...and shakes it at me. “Honey, I’ve still got a week!” Retreat!! “Ok, ok, today. But after the Masters.” I’m frantically cutting fire trails to slow the spread of this Royal Blaze...but it isn’t going well. “Right now...? I don’t have time right now.” Then divine inspiration strikes: “Because...because we’re going out on the boat.” She’s gobsmacked, so I riposte. “It was going to Bill Dudley Guest Columnist be a surprise...happy now!?” Give her the wounded look... Brilliant! Oops, another hiccup: “Of course, I cleaned the boat.” “just a while ago.” “like... Labor Day.” “So wear some thing ya’ don’t mind getting a little dirty...skimpy even.” “Hey, wait, where ya’ goin’?” My First Mate has aban doned ship and locked herself in her art studio, no doubt working on Mona Lisa’s smile. I will have to brush up on my Maritime Law, but I don’t think “con finement to quarters” is appropriately punitive for a serious crime like Mutiny. I’ll call Capt. Larry Hone; he knows his way around a cat- o-nine-tails. I shift the TV improving my sight-lines from the porch couch, pick up the controller and ease myself down to per fectly prone, my head cush ioned and angled towards the TV. I press the power button and think Jersey Joe’s great line; ‘What’s not to like? I got a wife and a TV, and they’re both working.” Later, channel swapping between the Masters, the Cubs taking down the Car dinals and nodding off a bit to the sounds and smells of spring, I contemplate taxes: Hmmm, they’ll keep. Besides, our new president is within days of eliminat ing taxes; something about regulating the deregulation (yawn) of...regulations. It’ll be great. A cold beer would sure taste good but this chloro form couch is sooo comfy... eyes getting heavy...Then, through a fog, Pat Summer- all; “...from 185, Arnie with a five iron...to four feet!!” CLUNK, the controller hits the floor.. .beeeeeer. “Bill?” Big El calls from the kitchen (Good Gawd! It’s a jailbreak!) “Did you remember to call Katherine?” (hmm, did I? Not yet.) “Yeah, Hon.... It’s peachy.” “So, are the taxes done?” Yawn, “Uh huh...we’re getting’ a huge refund.” I like making her happy. “Hey, Sweetheart, if you’re close to the fridge....” Spring is the perfect season for contemplation, fabrica tion and...procrastination. Ahh, spring. Bill Dudley can be concated at Doright@ plantationcable.net 7TCH// Mini Storage Buildings Eatonton • Putnam County Souvenir Coins Now Available 00 each Proceeds benefit the Latonton-Putnam Tourism Arts Herritagc Partnership, Inc. (EPTAHP) • The Peoples Bank • Fanners and Merchants Bank • This & That • • Uncle Remus Museum • The Eatonton Messenger • Lake Oconee News • • Chamber of Commerce •
