Easter 2009 I went to visit to Houston this past weekend to visit the guy that I am dating.  When I made my reservations several weeks ago, I found out that it was Easter weekend.  My original plan to fly back Sunday morning didn’t seem as preferred because I didn’t want to miss attending church on Easter Sunday.  All of the afternoon flights were more expensive, but I felt God was worth it, and decided to stay later and attend church in TX. My mother loved Easter Sunday.  There were many years that I would be greeted on Easter morning with an Easter basket full of goodies.  It was sometimes far too much chocolate that I would ever think about eating, but I always appreciated her thought and care.  Even in 2006 at the age of 29, my mother had a beautiful smile on her face as she presented me with an Easter basket.  I never shared my mother’s Easter habits with anyone and just assumed I would pick up on the Easter basket tradition once I started poppin out some kids of my own. Well, I walk into this guy’s house on Thursday evening, and the first thing I see is his kitchen counter.  Sitting on the counter is this amazing Easter basket along with a card imprinted with my name.   I beamed at just the thought that he would take the time to make one for me.  But as I grew closer, my smile grew wider and my cheeks more red from blushing.  He had taken the time stuff my basket with the protein bars that I love to eat while training.  He even found packets of some of the supplements, Cell Mass, I drink right after working out.  And the best thing ever – was that there was a stuffed animal.  This was no ordinary stuffed bunny.  He was Carolina blue (Go Tar Heels).  But, it didn’t stop there.  This bunny was actually a stuffed monkey that had on bunny ears.  (If you know me, you know I have a fascination with monkeys – nothing kinky, though!)  I was speechless, thankful and appreciative that not only did he take the time to make the basket, but also took the time to learn about me. Sunday rolls around and I have a choice of churches to attend.  I grew up attending Episcopal churches.  Over the past couple of years I have attended Black Baptist churches.  However, I have NEVER attended a Black Episcopal church.  I located a flourishing one, St. James, in Houston.  I was speechless at the service.  You know how people are memorized at seeing a black president?  Those were my feelings while listening to the black priest, Rev. Thomas.  Then, to look around and seeing other Black Episcopalians reciting the same things I said for three decades made my Easter all the more special. When you walk into any situation, you never know what the outcome will be, or who will make a difference in your life.  I went to Houston just to kick it and hang out, but left with physical and spiritual memories that I will never forget. M.Y. April 2009