My family and I moved recently. And, if that hasn’t struck fear into your heart, try this: we moved recently, with two children under five…to a city hours away from our home of ten years…in the middle of one of the most absurd housing markets anyone has seen this side of the Hudson.
We have a house now (thank goodness), but we are still foraging through precariously stacked piles of our life which we packed away last summer.
Moving with young children is no small feat, especially when you’re relocating in a tough housing market and still working through stacks of boxes months later. Every unpacked item seems to bring up memories from the old home, making it both an exciting and bittersweet experience. When life is already so full, getting a fresh start can mean finally tackling those last few moving boxes and deciding which things truly belong in your new space.
If you’re contemplating a move yourself and hoping to make it less of an ordeal, consider ways to streamline the selling process. For example, if you need to sell your house fast in Riverside, there are services available that make it possible to skip the drawn-out listing process. This can free up your time and energy, making the transition smoother and helping you get settled faster. Focusing on creating a new home that works for your current life—without the extra stress—makes all the difference when you’re moving to a new city with little ones in tow.
If I have not awakened your sympathy yet, let me try once more. It is Holy Week. Easter is in five days. I cannot find my lamb cake pan mold.
Nothing causes a frantic, calculated rush at piles of cardboard with a pair of dull scissors than a liturgist who’s lost her Easter lamb.
The absence of “Lamby” occurred to me on Palm Sunday, when, in my stupor of rushed deadlines and disrupted habits, I’d forgotten that I should be planning ahead for my customary Easter bakes. Even though we’re slowly pulling out piece after piece of clothing, coffee mugs, and stuffed animals which mean something to us, this whole time away from the first home we bought together and where our kids were babies, has felt like Lent.
Each time we open a memory, we recall the rooms we lived in, the way we decorated for Advent, the gardens we grew, the friends we left behind. Here, we are walking through our lives waiting—waiting for box piles to ebb away as books are shelved. Waiting—waiting for small children to feel more comfortable in new schools with new expectations (we’ve got an introvert in preschool—guess how that’s going?). We’re waiting—waiting for our lives to feel like we are home.
If we, with all our gifts and resources, feel this way, what do those who are walking through their own deserts feel—right now? Families who have lost a loved one. Migrants escaping violence through dangerous passage. Communities waiting for death as they are starved in their own cities.
My lamb cake’s presence, or absence, is not nearly as important as the Lamb who is calling us to recognize each other’s suffering with empathy—to see each other with compassion—to acknowledge that the Cross is real. Lent is not for us to “get in” our good graces before Easter. Nor is it simply about happy memories of vanquishing the horrors of a falling-apart lamb cake with a mean pound cake recipe. Lent draws us back to who we are to be. Lent reminds us that we are part of a world deeply in need of the mystery of Christ’s redemption.
And so we edge closer to our Paschal Feast—and, if you are on tender hooks about the outcome of my lamb—I have good news. The lamb was discovered—in an unreasonable place amidst plastic dinosaur Jello molds, in a box marked “laundry room” (we packed quickly).
In our own way, with small ones, introverted ones, and ones who are still looking for all their books, we will join in the Supper of the Lamb, the Lamb who was Slain, the Lamb who will reign forever and ever.
And we’ll eat some of “Lamby” to celebrate.
Blessings on your Triduum.