Thinking about God, at work, on the Wednesday before Easter

I grew up Catholic, of the "very" (but not Mel Gibson level) variety - church every week, youth group, confirmation, gnawing guilt at every inevitable sin and impure thought. John and I were married in the lovely little Episcopalian church by our house and attended long enough after that to officially become Episcopalian. Then I took up running and since Sunday mornings are for long runs we just sortof stopped going.

I still consider myself a person of faith, I suppose. I try to be good, I try to see the good in people, I like Anne Lamott books, when the s*** hits the fan my first inclination is to pray. Usually to Mary instead of God, who I had a bit of a falling out with a few years ago, after what happened to Dad.

But there's just something about Easter that every year I spend a few weeks with God on my mind. It's the lapsed Catholic in me, partly, but I have always loved the newness of it all. The solemnity of Good Friday and the stations of the cross. Then the light of Easter morning - the Laura Ashley dresses little girls wear, the lilies, the feeling that on this one day we all get to start fresh.

Apparently I'm in good company on these musings - in Salon today, Garrison Keillor had a lovely post about being a doubter, after a lifetime of faith. After I read Garrison's piece, Salon then thoughtfully linked me to this wonderful essay excerpted from Darcey Steinke's memoir "Easter Everywhere."