Easter Weekend

Easter weekend was a welcome opportunity to see family I have not seen since Christmas as well as meet the Korean exchange student my parents have “replaced” me with. (He was staying with another family, but that didn’t work out all too well and since my parents have an extra bedroom now, they took him in. He’s doing better now.)

Anyway, Dad, Sung, and I left for Alabama on Saturday morning. Our destination? Collinsville Trade Day. I was going to provide a link, but their site died. For those of you who don’t know – I presume that is anyone reading this blog – Collinsville Trade Day is basically an outdoor flea market. People come from all over north Alabama and Georgia to sell or buy their junk.

And in many instances it is in fact junk. Today I saw, among other things, a bathtub and slightly used shoes, alongside the typical rusted out pieces of scrap metal. There are useful things too, such as knives and guns, some homemade crafts, and also produce (I purchased a quart of honey today), but a lot of the time you go there to laugh at the people and chuckle at what people think potential customers will buy. It’s also fun to talk to the vendors, if they’re willing to act like proper Southerners and carry on a conversation.

And since it was the day before Easter, there were quite a few chicks and bunnies for sale. I don’t know how many were bought, but I can imagine that the number of purchases made is proportional to the number of parents who will regret said purchase come Monday morning. Besides, after Easter most of the kids will no longer be interested. What do you do with a chick besides raise it for eggs or eat it, honestly? There were also a number of free puppies, as well as goats, guineas, ducks, and turtles for sale. I know at least one who will want to know there were also geckoes today. That was a first.

It’s the kind of event that someone should go to at least once in his life. For locals, once a year is enough, maybe twice. Furries should not announce their presence as such.

Following that, we navigated Lookout Mountain and stopped by Dad’s relatives. Many on Dad’s side were there… and about as many as were there were strangers to the coyote. As is typical, they knew who I was but I did not know them.

Lastly before leaving we stopped by the mill hole. Years ago, a mill stood in this spot, but now there is nothing but the foundation for the building, and a waterfall into a wide, clear pool. People still swim in it to this day, although it’s not the sort of place I would want to venture into without shoes or thick-skinned pawpads. There’s no telling how much broken glass or metal cans have accumulated over the decades. (For the record, I have never had the opportunity to swim in the mill hole, although this is something I strongly wish to remedy.)

My apologies for the lack of pictures, because I know my words formed a report and painted no mental images for you. To do that would require pages upon pages.

That Obligatory Furry Dream

It is not altogether unusual to hear my fellow furries describe fandom-related dreams they have experienced, often with some sort of transformation theme. Until this week, I had experienced exactly two furry dreams in my life, and both are from high school.

And then this week was the super-rare (for me) transformation-related furry dream. In keeping with many dreams, none of the events actually happen to me; I am an observer and nothing more. In the dream, a husband and wife explorer – at least I think they were husband and wife – end up being a little more feline than they were anticipating. Why feline I’m not sure, considering I’m not overly fond of those. But that’s what they were.

I can understand to a point why these dreams are enjoyable. Because I am a writer and storyteller, a dream like that is amazing for me, because the dream presented itself in story form, almost as if I were watching a movie of the event. As is typical for the coyote, there were some skips in the scenes and a moment or two replayed itself, but it told a cohesive story.

If only I could write it down. I tried to earlier this week, and the attempt simply was not vivid enough. I’m not good at writing about expeditions in strange places, apparently.

Nearing Easter

We are nearing the end of what is often referred to as Holy Week in the Church. This was the most climactic week of Jesus’ life, without doubt. The crowds already know who he is, and many of them are still hyped because of the miracle they had witnessed not far from Jerusalem – a man who had been dead for four days was walking and talking again, healthy and alive. So a few days later when Jesus stages his “grand entry” into Jerusalem, naturally the crowds are enthusiastic. They are waving palm branches and hailing the arrival of their king. They are celebrating. He is teaching in the temple or outside Jerusalem every day. The people can’t get enough of him.

And four days later they are calling for his death. After being falsely accused of sedition and experiencing a mockery of a trial, and scorned by the rulers of the day, he is finally taken to be scourged and killed in the most painful and humiliating way the Romans could imagine.

They missed it. Their king had come to them, although they were looking for someone else. Someone who would overthrow their oppressors and deliver their nation back to them. Although, if they had been paying attention…

The Messiah was presented to them on the 10th day of the month, just before the Passover, when the sacrificial lamb was selected. The lamb had to be without blemish, and after its selection it was to be out for all to see until the time of sacrifice. And then, on the 14th day of the month the Messiah was put to death at the same time as the Passover lamb, according to John. So on Sunday the Messiah appeared to the people, and on Thursday they killed him.

He spent three days and nights in the tomb, and sometime Saturday night he was resurrected. When women came to the tomb on the first day of the week, he was already gone.

Jesus’ death and resurrection are the two pivotal points in history upon which all else hangs. Jesus bore our sins on the cross (it was not technically a payment for our sin, which I’ve mentioned in the past but that’s a topic for another time). He was the sacrifice for our sin, our Passover lamb (1 Corinthians 5:7) and the last sacrifice that would ever be required (Heb 10:10-12). Because of this sacrifice, we can be justified before God. We can be forgiven and be spared the wrath of God. We die with him, to use Paul’s terminology, and so we live with him. We are set free from sin and made free to live holy lives, since we have been cleansed of all sin.

But his death would not have meant as much without the resurrection. Indeed, had it not happened, we would be the most pitiable of people. For all that, we would still be doomed to die, because even God would not have been able to conquer death. If he cannot, what hope do we have? If he is not raised, we are all still in our sins. We are all the same way we were when we came to God, and He has done nothing to help us. Thanks be to God that death was defeated that day! We do have hope. We are assured the victory, because it is God who works in us and equips us every day.