The Hiding of the Baskets

A few years ago, when I came home from Easter during college, I woke up on Easter morning and saw Easter baskets simply sitting on the fireplace mantle. I was furious. I told my mother I would not accept my Easter basket, that it had to be hidden. It would honestly be the equivalent of my parents not wrapping Christmas gifts but simply putting sweaters and shirts and games randomly under the tree. What is the fun in that? Come on now, everyone knows part of the thrill on Christmas morning is actually unwrapping the gifts. (Note that I said "part of the thrill." The gifts are still very much important in themselves, so don't think a horrible gift counts simply because it's wrapped and all. It doesn't.) It's the same with the Easter basket. I don't actually care too much about the candy and juices and apples that come in my Easter basket, but I reallyt do care very much about searching for the basket on Easter morning. Yes, I'm five and I don't care. So when this happened a few years ago, I was pretty devastated and told my mother I would go to my room for ten minutes while she hid the basket. I think that was a moment when she wondered why she had a fourth child. But my mother is a great mother and she of course hid my basket. (I think it was pretty easy that year, in the dryer or oven or some other standard hiding place that used to work, but I did only give her ten minutes after all...)

Now onto this year: I woke up and because of the business of the season, the baskets weren't even ready. I didn't show my frustration, and when I got home from work, my mom and dad made the wait worthwhile. They sat us all down (I was actually way too excited and had way too much adrenaline to sit down) and told us that this year the baskets were hidden next door in the church. There was howling and screaming, mostly by me, but nonetheless, you could tell everyone was pretty excited. The couples (Jess and Tim, Chris and Jen) each had a basket and I had my own (one of the last remaining benefits of being single...not having to share my Easter basket). They took us to the foyer of the church, told us the boundaries, and let us lose, telling us there was even a prize for the first one to find a basket. We went off. I went through the nursuries first, then the balcony, skipped the sanctuary because I was pretty sure my parents would think it was sacreligious to hide a basket there, and then went up to the baptistry area. Way in the back corner of the maze of rooms that is behind the church, in a room where they do all the pretty flower arrangements, I saw my basket. I went to the baptistry, screamed that I had found one so that everyone would know, and when I arrived back to the foyer, I realized I was indeed the first one to find a basket. You can't imagine the elation in my soul.

Chris and Jen then found the second basket (in the women's bathroom downstairs), but Jess and Tim were really having a hard time. So the rest of us joined in the search but simply couldn't find it anywhere. So as the devious children that we are, when we were all in the back rooms far from my parents, I told them we should just leave the church through one of the back doors and go home, seeing how long my parents would just sit in the foyer thinking we were off searching somewhere for the lost basket. Well, it was a moment of siblinal bliss. (I don't think siblinal is a word, but it should be. Basically, it was a moment of bliss shared by siblings.) We went back to the house, started the game of Settlers of Catan (positively my favorite game ever), and within a few minutes my parents found us at home, and laughter erupted again. They gave us a big hint and we went back and found the basket, and really, it was one of those great family memories I just think I'll probably treasure for a really long time.

You see, I've never thought there were a lot of benefits to being a pastor's kid. But being able to have the hunt for the Easter baskets in the church has got to be at the top of the list.