The only thing I had to be happy about this Easter was a resurrected savior. I know, I know, but hear me out. I've never had an Easter like this last one. There have always been trappings. Easter baskets filled with glucose products were my first Easter joy, but as I aged, the quest to convince my mom that we needed to dye 87 dozen eggs despite my unwillingness to eat even one consumed me. I had an insatiable desire to see those virginal white eggs come drink up vibrant color from various dye-filled coffee cups. My family's several dozen eggs combined with the eggs of my ever-increasing supply of cousins made for an epic Easter egg hunt at my grandparents' house - which sometimes lasted unintentionally for several months, until we could find the eggs by smell. When there were too many cousins younger than me to justify my hunting eggs, (which never would have happened if my family could have stopped being so stinking fruitful for ten seconds) I found the joy of hiding eggs myself. Aha! Try to find that egg you little ankle-biter. Finally, as I matured I found a growing appreciation for family, church traditions, and a day to celebrate Christ's resurrection properly--with joy and chocolate.

So the day before Easter, Saturday, Husband and I once again set out on our quest to pretend we have a social network and showed up at our new church's young adults group. I was hopeful - this would certainly be where we set up a big kids' playdate with Mr. and Mrs. Canadian. I might even get invited to coffee with Cute Girl. Once you set a coffee date you've arrived. Movers and shakers have coffee dates, am I right? At the very least I would have the pleasure of chatting pleasantly with someone other than my wonderful husband, who cannot fathom why anyone would ever go to a coffee shop when they can talk at home - for free.

I feel duped. Young adults group my eye! We went to a youth group. Last week they might have been able to fool us, what with the chairs in an intimate circle and all, but this time I saw through their clever "young adults" facada. Ages 16 to 30 - lies! I doubt anyone there could even fathom being 30. You might as well try to explain to them why that piercing is not a good career move, but good luck being met with more than a blank stare.

Mr. and Mrs. Canadian and Cute Girl, or Shoe Girl, as I find I'd rather call her, did not show. They probably had grown-up things to do. I don't remember what the preaching was about, because someone brought a puppy! A Beagle puppy! It was sniffing around and intent on searching out all mischief to be had. Husband and I were once in the market for a Beagle, and it was a beautiful, beautiful dream. We woke up when we remembered we live in a condo and work full time. See? We're such adults it's disgusting.

Easter service was beautiful. There was real joy in celebrating Christ's resurrection. The preschoolers sang an Easter song, and even though no one could understand a word they were, ahem, singing, it was sufficiently precious. Families were together. Everyone was smiling and dressed beautifully. After church we went home and I sat in the car and cried hard. The holiday left me longing for family, for friends, for someone to share joy with. I wanted to be joyful that day, not go back into the condo and cook for five hours while Husband read C.S. Lewis, silent, on the couch. In the car I told God my frustrations (and they were several). My impulse was to call my mom and cry to her, but I knew that comfort was not a lasting solution. I needed action.

I cleaned up my face and went into the house. I told Husband I was going back to church (they were having muffin fellowship). I did not ask him if he wanted to g0, because I knew he didn't and I wanted to be able to do this on my own.

I went to church. I made small talk. Consumed muffins. I even talked to Mrs. Canadian, mostly about the ridiculousness of our respective husbands. Progress? No, I don't think so. But at least I talked. At least I showed myself friendly and took action. Mrs. Canadian will have a baby any day now, (damn fruitfulness again) and I realize that the chances of her and I forming a friendship will be dramatically reduced after that. It's not as if we were even on our way to being friends; she was just a hope I had.

What I wanted to say is, this Easter I learned about hope. All would have been lost if Jesus had stayed in the tomb, but death could not hold him and there is hope for us all. God has given me snippets of hope in different ways this week, and I'm grateful that my current desperation helps me notice them. Jesus understands loneliness in a far deeper sense than I ever could, and yet he holds me and doesn't think my hurting is silly. So, as I told my mom when she lamented that she had not sent me any Easter gifts, a resurrected savior is much better than a chocolate bunny. So onward, further up and farther in!