April 30, 2011
I told myself I would write about Easter at some point, but I'm not really sure what to say. Holy week in Kazakhstan was simply a set of days on a calendar. They are marked in my planner, but other than that, they receive no recognition in a Muslim country. It was a little odd going through the week. I know this is a really important season in my faith, but the spirit of anticipation is absolutely zero in the community.
I woke up Easter Sunday feeling sad and a little bit guilty at my lack of enthusiasm. This is only the biggest day on the Christian calendar and I can barely bring myself to consciously remember the holiday for a full morning. Needless to say, there is a reason you practice faith in a community.
As I got out of bed, I committed to consciously remembering the sacrifices of the season for a whole day. I had almost forgotten that promise as I walked into the kitchen. But there, sitting on the table was a plate of colorful eggs-one with a sticker of an angle and Jesus. Who knew about Easter, and how did they get the supplies to make these vividly colored eggs? I didn't tell anyone about this holiday or our traditions, yet somehow the Easter Bunny made a trip to Kazakhstan.
As it turns out, a neighboring family is Russian Orthodox. There is a small group of them in my village and they practice their faith rather quietly. (I'm not sure they even have a building or weekly meetings.) But every year on Easter, they prepare baskets of eggs, cakes, and cookies and take them around to their neighbors.
I don't know if they were thinking of me specifically when they brought those eggs to my door, but seeing them on the kitchen table was a little miracle for my spirit- which had otherwise been celebrating Holy Week alone.
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