My Easter Gift to You

8/2/2019 My Easter Gift to You

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My Easter Gift to You ....


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Table of Contents

1. Easter Eggs.2. 'And yet I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.'(Matthew 6:28) Easter Lilly, 20113. 'The air which you breathe/ At last I breathe.' If Christ came to Cambridge. What would you do?


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Easter Eggs.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

The older I get, the less current holidays mean to me... and the more those from years, even decadesago. I see the vivid Easter displays; (these days pharmacies seem to have the most and largest.) Butthese festive aisles and windows, the bags of candy, and, of course, the seasonal cuddlies do notspeak to me. They merely mark the calendar as just another day.

That was not always the case, but years and unrelenting death have so thinned the ranks of thesignificant players in these annual rites that the dead now significantly outnumber the living, ofwhom, graying, I am yet one.

I do not mind giving up this present holiday; there is little enough to lose.

But I would mind relinquishing my memories of Easter Days gone by, for there are my belovedghosts, each and every one as vital in my mind's eye as quick, not long defunct.

And because these folks are even more precious to me now than then, I wish this Easter toremember them through the medium of eggs, colored eggs, hidden eggs, Easter eggs.

My mother's Easter eggs.

Without any effort whatsoever, I see her in the way the narrator in Thornton Wilder's play "OurTown" (1938) saw his characters and Granite state denizens. She was young and beautiful then, far,far younger than I am now. She worried, as so many women before and since, about whether shewas a "good mother" because she had outside work responsibilities. When I was much older, shewould ask me if I minded her being away when I came home from school. I was too young to knowjust what I should have said. .So, I stumbled through an answer I hope gave comfort, but mustdoubt. Perhaps it was some scintilla of this guilt (I cannot be sure) that drove the yearly Easter EggProject, or perhaps it was simply that this messy business was sure to make her laugh. I was there butperceived little; today I see much more, all impressions secure in my mind's eye.

I quite recall we'd go to Woolworths, first, and then our local general store and post office, run byMr. and Mrs. Mackey (I never called them anything other); folks who knew all, but were most times(gratefully) discrete.

Both places would have had the Eastern egg coloring kit (by PAAS?) that was de rigueur for thisannual kitchen table rite. This kit had the necessary color pellets, special "swirl" colors, too, foradvanced egg coloring.... and a host of decals with seasonal themes. We only used the secular ones.Some of these were certain to be later found in my brother's hair and clothes; he tried to do as muchto me, but I was older and wise to his tactics. He can hardly laugh about it even now...

At first. there was strict order and efficiency. Uncolored eggs here; table spoons for these eggs fordipping. Hot water (mind it needed vinegar) on the stove... pellets here... decals there. This sensibleordering of the event was gone in an instant, submerged in uncouth behaviors, reachings around andover, and of course clever sibling sabotages.

And always and again, laughter that firmly established more than any query ever could, that yes shewas the best of mothers, how could she even wonder? And so, some telltale signs of the battle stilltable top, the now colored eggs packed up (except a few) and driven purposefully to Grammie'shouse, where we rambunctious and much loved, visited most every day. Grammie had a task forthese eggs... and we knew partly what it was, for these rituals were yearly done.

Each year, Grammie and Grampie, their four adult children and their spouses, would mastermind the

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family Easter Egg Hunt. There was never any question where it would be held. And while it was notso grand as the nation's Egg Rolling at the White House, it was as meticulously arranged andpunctiliously celebrated.

All aunts contributed the necessary elements -- colored eggs of course (always the subject of highscrutiny and devastating comments sotto voce); home-made cookies (the honor of their sex ensuredwe never had others); and mountains of Easter candy that started with chocolate rabbits and endedwith jelly beans. Then circled back to chocolate again. Excess was the order of the day.

Children were encouraged to play outside. Important doings were underway... in the kitchen and inthe "rec" room below where the men had the task of determining the hiding places in and out... andcarefully writing each location down. These men might grumble... but they never missed this crucialaspect of the affair. They would have been there anyway; we all ended each day in Grammie's houseand kitchen perforce, no invitation ever needed.

At the appointed hour Easter Day, after church and a heavy, formal luncheon which lost nothing ofour solid living Hanoverian ancestors, the grandchildren (and that meant every last one of us) weregathered at the starting point in the garage, where on ordinary days Grampie was not above showingoff his latest Oldsmobile and his automated garage door. His children, as yet, had neither. Thegrandchildren's Easter eggs.

Grampie and his two sons and two sons-in-law including my father were in charge of Order andEfficiency. This year would surely not be a repeat of what happened last year. But it always was...

The children were all sternly and solemnly admonished to put what they found in their Easter basketand, Above All Else, to let one of the hovering adults know Where They Had Found It.

As always, the organizing theory was excellent... but the reality ensured the customary mass chaos(and much laughter).

The youngest grandchildren could never recall where they had found that chocolate bunny, whichwas already absent an ear. The oldest grandchildren (inspired by me, the oldest of all) were practised

predators. We knew all the best hiding places and went to them like a bat from hell, erasing all orderas we went.

Such perhaps was the truest indication that we were a family, each and every one of us.

Unwilling to end this giant game of hide and seek, the grandchildren hid and re-hid the eggs (nowmostly broken and inedible) and candies, too. There were only to be found when one of the uncleswas sure to find in humid July in the toe of his winter boots, a very jaundiced and pungent Easter eggartifact. So, that's where that one went....

No Easter, however, would have been complete without my father taking us to the feed store andreviewing the new colored chicks and ducks (red, blue, purple, green). We were allowed a half a

dozen or so; before we left Grammie's we got to show our less fortunate cousins What We Got... petsall, none ever to be eaten.

Now all this exists only in my mind's eye... but, because I've summoned this story, it is all quiteclear, so many fond details not lost, but here after all and after all these years.

And so I say to every parent, grandparent and distant aunts and uncles, too: this day, live this dayand hug every memory close. Each one is yours... and precious, too; not one to lose. It all starts witha colored egg, my privilege too long forgot, to do this day, in remembrance of all , each one alive inme as I in them.




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'And yet I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glorywas not arrayed like one of these.' (Matthew 6:28) EasterLilly, 2011

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

It is today Easter Sunday. Easter came late this year, April 24. And it came into a world that was

dismayed by our elusive springtime; temperatures low, hints of snow and even some late flakes, andthe bone chilling winds that convince you January has never left, though in fact it is 55 degrees inCambridge, Massachusetts.

My house is awash with flowers, many more than usual. I saw some lovely orchids at Shaw's marketin Porter Square; they were reasonably priced, too. And so then having nothing blooming inside, Ibrought them home. It is now two weeks and a couple days since I acquired them; they are fadednow, of course. But they still have traces, and proudly too, of the tasteful colors that made me snatchthem up.

Doyle Taylor, a perceptive friend, saw that I was preoccupied one recent day and tended to be more

caustic than usual. Doyle is a man who not merely believes in saying it with flowers but doing sopromptly with a most thoughtful card signed by him and his new wife Casey. They were high schoolsweethearts who lost touch, married others... then after fate had dealt with them, rediscovered andmarried each other. They are charming, intelligent, delightful. One can never know too many suchbut life delivers them sparingly.

Then there is my most recent floral acquisition, the mandatory (for some) Easter Lily. I got it onlyyesterday (when I inquired a week ago I was told they came in only a few days before the holiday. Ithas one flower open and many buds promising good value and good looks, too. It is of this plant andits Easter Lily -- Lilium longiflorum -- that I wish to speak for it is, verily, the symbol of the day andits world-changing events.

Many Easter lilies, not just one.

We speak in common parlance, as people do, of an "Easter lily," but in fact there are several such.First, of course, lilium longiflorum, the clear winner of the name by its indisputable commercialprowess.

Following far behind in popularity, use, and commercial value is Zantedeschia aethoipca, not a truelily at all, commonly called Lily of the Nile, Calla lily or Arum lily, native to southern Africa. ThenLilium candidum, commonly called the Madonna Lily, native to the Balkans and West Asia.Zephyranthes atamasco, commonly called Atamasco Lily or Rain Lily, native to the southwesternUnited States... then (you never guessed) daffodils, the daffs we love being lilies after all.

Where did Easter lilies come from?

Ever hear of the Ryukyu Islands of southern Japan? That's where today's Easter lilies originate. Andtherein lies an important fact about why this industry was once dominated by Japan... and why todayit is almost completely American. World War II was the transforming event.

Prior to 1941, the majority of Easter lily bulbs were exported to the United States from Japan. WorldWar II changed everything. Today 95% of all bulbs grown for the potted Easter lily market are notonly produced in the United States, but more surprisingly within a narrow coastal region straddlingthe California-Oregon border, from Smith River, California up to Brookings, Oregon. It gets evenmore interesting; just 10 farms in this area produce almost all Easter lily bulbs in the US of A.




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Unsurprisingly these farms have dubbed themselves collectively the "Easter Lily Capital of theWorld."

An industry completely changed by one man and one bulb.

One man made a huge difference to this US dominance of the Easter Lily and how it looks today.That man was Louis Houghton who brought a suitcase full of hybrid lily bulbs to the south coast ofOregon in 1919. These he freely distributed certain that the weather and environment were perfectfor the cultivation of a superior bulb to that grown by the Japanese. When WW II cut off Americansfrom the Easter lilies which were an integral part of religious services, Houghton was given his bigchance on a silver platter.

He was successful beyond his wildest imaginings. By 1945 there were about 1,200 growersproducing bulbs up and down the Pacific Coast, from Vancouver, Canada to Long Beach, California.The early comers profited for a time as the price of lily bulbs skyrocketed. It reminded some of theDutch "tulip mania" of the 17th century, where a single tulip bulb cost the annual wages of 10 skilledcrafts people. Were Easter lily bulbs next? A small army of lily farmers bet the ranch on it... andfailed. The number of Easter lily producing farms steadily dropped; today there are just 10...comfortably dividing up the proceeds.

The Nellie White.

James White was one of the successful Easter lily producers. However, he thought the elimination ofJapan (and its too small lilies) opened the door for other improvements, too. He wanted to end thedominance of the "White Gold" bulb... and significantly improve the look of Easter lilies with anentirely new bulb... in due course named after White's wife, Nellie. Today the "Nellie White"dominates the U.S. market and thus the entire Easter lily business. One crucial thing in season cancompletely change any industry, and no one in business should ever forget that.

More about the Easter lily business.

One major reason why so many Easter lily producers closed was the considerable difficulty in

growing and managing the plants themselves. First, Easter lily bulbs must be cultivated in the fieldsfor three, sometimes four, years, before they are ready to be shipped to commercial greenhousegrowers. During these years the bulbs are never dormant and require constant care and attention toassure superior quality and cleanliness. Each bulb is handled up to 40 times before it is ready to beshipped. And remember the commercial selling season is just two weeks annually at the time ofEaster (the date for which changes annually)... and all Easter lilies must be ready and should ideallyhave at least one flower open, the better to showcase the thing that matters most of all to everyonewho sees this stately, evocative plant: the Easter lily itself. It is astonishingly elegant, dramatic, thevery essence of purity. As such Jesus saw fit to use this favored plant as a means of quieting nervousChristians.

The Sermon on the Mount.Of the many seminal moments in the brief ministry of Jesus Christ on earth, the Sermon on theMount needs special attention. It was given in about AD 30 and contains one essential element of theChristian religion after another, including this reassuring sentiment to believers:

"Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomonin all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."

And so Jesus turned a glorious flower into a symbol of God's love for and protection of even erringpeople. Thus, when you attend Easter services today or any day and see the unforgettable whitetrumpet-like flowers of the Easter lily, you are seeing an apt symbol and manifestation of a love that




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can be ours and eternal.




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'The air which you breathe/ At last I breathe.' If Christ cameto Cambridge. What would you do?

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

We know now that history is a tricky business, that it is easy to forget times and dates and confuseand muddle what actually happened. Suzy tells everyone she must have been the first person he

spoke to, but Suzy is an unreliable source... and besides was a confirmed addict who oftendisappeared into her own world where she heard voices and saw people who didn't really exist butfrightened her anyway.... still when she tells this story she gets a far away look in her eyes... and shelooks younger, calmer and she's almost beautiful again. What drug, I wondered, has that quality?

Here's what we do know.

One day the man who called himself Jesus wasn't here in Harvard Square.... then the next day hewas. That isn't unusual. When the first mild spring days arrive run-aways, addicts, the homeless anddown and out spread out from the Pit at the main subway entrance, in the stretch alongMassachusetts Avenue from the Coop to the bus stop at the corner of Mass and Garden St. It's allhospitable territory for the panhandling down-and-out. That's why no one took much notice of Jesus;

he was just another loser blown in, to stay for a while, then go on his tangled way.

Still, the man wasn't what we usually saw hereabouts. He didn't seem to be strung out on drugs,wasn't up to snuff on where to find drugs, which drugs you could mix to intensify the high... andwhich ones you must never mix if you want to wake up again. He didn't talk to you or even seem tolisten to the conversations about where to find drugs, who had them, who you needed to conciliate,who was a good guy and who wasn't.

But then there was that incident with Ben...

Ben was Suzie's... what? Lover? Boy toy? Child? One minute you'd see Ben up and pan handling;the next moment his head would be in Suzie's lap, a pieta' not quite blocking the way into the CVS

store. she coddled him, held him, tolerated his infidelities. One day, and it must have been the firstsuch day, Ben started vomiting, screaming, moaning. Suzie was hysterical. She kept saying "Helpus! Help us! Help us!" But no one wanted to hear, much less help...

... except Jesus.

And as it happened, I saw the entire episode myself. Jesus appeared as if from nowhere. But it washis eyes which were so arresting. His eyes... and his hands. He looked first at Suzie; she stoppedscreaming. I can tell you that Jesus didn't say a single word... then he placed his hands on Ben'shead, as if to comfort and reassure. First Ben stopped moaning... then he sat up and smiled, "Thanks,man," he said. "I'm better now." With his hands still on Ben's head, Jesus said these words, his eyes

were infinite and kind:"Don't think about tomorrow. Think about today for tomorrow will take care of itself. Remember,sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

"Cool", said Ben.

I thought, he's one of these new street healers popping up in the Square. But they always ask forsomething; Jesus didn't. Maybe there's some kind of free offer.

I didn't see Jesus again for a few weeks. that, too, was completely normal. I was immersed in mybusiness...until one springtime Sunday in the late afternoon I saw about 40 people gathered around




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the Lincoln Memorial. Jesus was standing on one of the concrete benches. He hadn't yet started tospeak.

It was a lovely afternoon and the people were happy and, at the margins, a bit obstreperous andboisterous, too. Drugs of course, or liquor.

Raising his hands in an embracing gesture, arms outstretched, palms up, he commenced, withoutwelcoming word or introduction. It was almost a chant, simple, moving; I reached into my pocketfor my pen and found not paper but a used napkin for my notes:

"The poor in spirit are blessed.The kingdom of heaven is theirs."

There was no commentary, no explanation, just one declarative sentence like this after another, thewords delivered softly, his voice never raised.

"Are you mourning for someone you loved? You shall be comforted.

Are you meek of temperament? Then you'll be blessed. You shall inherit the earth

Are you merciful? Then you are blessed, for you will get mercy.

Are you working hard to find the righteous way? You will get what you seek."

As a public speaker myself, I was fascinated by his delivery.The words were simple, the deliveryfree of artifice even emphasis. Nothing seemed radical or revolutionary about Jesus... but nothingseemed very important about him either. However, in retrospect two items do stand out. First, as theobstreperous part of the crowd grew even more restive, he simply looked at them with hisfathomless eyes. He bid them to come forward... and after being asked again by Jesus and coaxed bythe crowd, some did. And I do not think I am wrong in saying that there was a touch of fire andheightened tone in what he said:

"You will be blessed when men shall attack and prosecute you. You will be even more blessed whenmen shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake."

This was the first time anyone had heard Jesus say such a thing for the words "for my sake" clearlyindicated he saw himself as a person of consequence. Most people in the crowd missed this. But Ididn't.

At just that moment, Ben ran into the Common and shouted, "Jesus, your friend Lazarus has diedand his sisters are upset. Can you come at once?"

"Are you sure he is dead?", he said. "Oh, yes," said Ben. And so Jesus walked to Huron Avenue...and into history. I don't have to remember what happened next; it's all over the Internet... Jesus'arrival at Lazarus'; the determination he was dead... and the call he made to Lazarus to get up, get upand walk... even the awe of the crowd when he did, changing the life of everyone there and the

people worldwide who were willing to trust what they saw.For the moment these video clips went online and viral, the whole thing became a zoo... thesereaffirming what they saw and advocating for him.... those proclaiming their acute disbelief in whatcould only be a hoax.

To help sort out the matter, Jesus accepted an invitation from Rush Limbaugh; in retrospect aterrible mistake for Limbaugh lacerated Jesus up and down, calling him a fake, an impostor, acharlatan, out for money, a man who lied, scammed, and deceived.

Jesus didn't retaliate, didn't raise his voice, and simply said, "Blessed are the pure in heart; for theywill see God." And as Limbaugh continued his stream of unending venom, rousing his listeners to




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hate and frenzy, a man named Judas who lived near the studio grabbed his gun. He shot Jesus threetimes as he walked out the door. In terrible pain, he said just before he died, "Father, forgive themfor they know not what they do."

But now we do. Starting with Judas, who immediately shot himself mingling the blood of ignominywith the most precious blood on earth.

Note: The title for this article comes from a sublime 1770 aria by C.W. von Gluck entitled "Of mysweet ardor" (O del mio dolce ardor). Go now to any search engine and play it. "I seek you, I callyou, I hope, and I sigh." It will comfort you.




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Resource

About The Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., where small andhome-based businesses learn how to profit online. Attend Dr. Lant's live webcast TODAY andreceive 50,000 free guaranteed visitors to the website of your choice! Dr. Lant is also the author of18 best-selling business books.

Republished with author's permission by Tim Ricke http://BizBuildersCommunity.com.

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My Easter Gift to You