.jpg) |
| My three girls: (L-R) Kelly, Becky, Ruth, Easter 1979 |
I miss my daughters most at Eastertime.
Sewing their dresses, finding three new pairs of white patent leather shoes.
The
Easter of 1979, our family lived on Great Smoky Drive outside Pittsburgh,
Pennsylvania. Young with our futures before us, we’d left our extended families,
neighbors, and church in Michigan for my husband to seize an employment
opportunity.
Becky, our
firstborn, attended fourth grade and loved her teacher and class. Perhaps her
new pierced ears helped her adapt. She conscientiously sterilized her earrings with
peroxide in a small paper cup.
When I crossed the
Allegheny River to drive our middle child, Kelly, to preschool, her younger
sister Ruth said, “Alligator River!”
Sponsored by the
church we attended, Kelly also loved her teacher and fellow students. She cried
when I returned to take her home.
“I want to go to
preschool, too!” Ruth said.
Nonetheless, as
Easter Day approached, the girls anticipated our return to Michigan for their
Easter egg hunt with their cousins.
And I longed for
dinner with my sisters and their families. Foremost, though, I recalled the
Easter Sunday service within the sanctuary of our former church, the highlight
being Buddy Mack’s solo of “The Holy City.”
We didn’t stick in Pennsylvania and soon moved our belongings
back to Michigan. Each Easter Sunday, Buddy Mack sang “The Holy City” to the
glory of Christ’s resurrection.
By 1990, Becky had dropped out of college addicted to drugs. My
husband, daughters, and I received word of her death July 6, 1996. Shattered, we
left our church and never heard Buddy Mack sing “The Holy City” again.
Dear Reader, as
you heal, it’s peculiar what you remember and hold dear. As Easter Day
approaches, I remember Buddy Mack’s gift to fellow pilgrims, and sing his song on
Buddy’s behalf. Please sing along.
Last night I lay asleeping
There came a dream so fair,
I stood in old Jerusalem
Beside the temple there.
I heard the children singing
And ever as they sang,
Methought the voice of Angels
From Heaven in answer rang
"Jerusalem, Jerusalem!
Lift up your gates and sing,
Hosanna in the highest.
Hosanna to your King!"
And then methought my dream was chang'd
The streets no longer rang.
Hush'd were the glad Hosannas
The little children sang.
The sun grew dark with mystery,
The morn was cold and chill
As the shadow of a cross arose
Upon a lonely hill.
"Jerusalem, Jerusalem!
Hark! How the Angels sing,
Hosanna in the highest,
Hosanna to your King!"
And once again the scene was chang'd
New earth there seem'd to be,
I saw the Holy City
Beside the tideless sea
The light of God was on its streets
The gates were open wide,
And all who would might enter
And no one was denied.
No need of moon or stars by night,
Or sun to shine by day,
It was the new Jerusalem
That would not pass away.
"Jerusalem! Jerusalem
Sing for the night is o'er.
Hosanna in the highest
Hosanna for evermore!"
