Growing up in the South means you begin life ingrained with rich traditions and lots of "because that's the way it's done."
You say "sir" and "ma'am", eat dressing and gravy only at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and never wear white shoes before Easter.
But on Easter it was all white, lace, and linen. My sisters and I each had a brand new pair of white lace socks, shiny white shoes, and depending on the year, a stylish hat complete with the elastic chin strap, which really hurts by the way if you pulled your hat off too fast.
And now I'm the mom weaving traditions and deep roots into influential minds. No white shoes or linen pants before Easter, or seersucker, or cream suits, and always take 347 pictures on the way out the door for church on Easter morning.
It's inevitable, it's coming, and my boys are just at the point of accepting this fact of mom-arrazi on Easter morning as much as they are accepting of waiting on their favorite seersucker and white boat shoes.
But traditions of fashion, Easter dinner menus, photo shoots, or egg hunts all fall away in the light of traditions aimed to deeply root young hearts in the tragedy, torture, and triumph or our Savior.
Ingraining in our little men (and lady to come) the traditions of Passover, the last supper, the garden, the cross, the torn veil, and the empty grave are more important than taking pictures or waiting to wear linen.
And while I'm grateful for memories of blazers and little ties captured in pictures, I'm even more blessed to hear these little men bow with us in prayer, praising their risen Savior for His sacrifice and salvation.
Happy Easter 2015