Easter Sunday when I was a child meant an early wake up call for my parents. Egg hunting, basket pillaging, obscene chocolate intake, new dresses, shiny new shoes, with lace socks, y’all, because my mama was THAT mama, and a hat.  That’s right we wore a hat … an Easter bonnet, she called it. 

As you get older, the traditions of your family are what you remember most. Like the bonnet.  I sure hope my daughter appreciates that I completely ignored that one. Traumatic memory for me, maybe. Haha! Over the years I have learned that a ball cap is the only hat that can be made to successfully fit my tiny little head.

Just yesterday I chose a cap for my errands as I often do on those “man, I really should wash my hair” days. A little ponytail sticking out of the back as a few well-planned “wispies” fall from the cap around my face. The idea is to look as groomed and put together as you can while hiding what is really going on, a dirty, possibly stinky, mess.  

As I sit here thinking about those beautiful lace dresses and socks, the shiny shoes and the really pretty – although annoying – bonnets, I am struck by what a perfect picture we must have made. Quiet and doting husband and father, energetic and outgoing wife and mother walking into church with their three sweet, impeccably dressed and well-behaved (you better believe it) daughters. I am suddenly filled with a bit of sadness when I see this picture in retrospect. We were happy, we were living the life that people saw, until we weren’t.

My mother was the spiritual leader of our home until my dad accepted Jesus and, y’all, when I say that man loved his Savior, I mean he LOVED him some Jesus. His life was immediately changed. I cannot remember much of life before that transformation. I have been told that my dad was always “a good man,” but he told me once that being a good man is not what gets you into heaven.  

My dad became involved in prison ministry early in his relationship with the Lord.  He spent the rest of his life being the hands and feet of Jesus.  Matthew 25:36 says, “I was in prison and you visited me.” My dad made it his mission to be the vessel Jesus used to visit those in prison. Countless lives were changed because of his dedication to this call.

While my dad’s faith and ministry grew, so did the enemy’s dislike of our family. Looking back as an adult, I can better recognize the tactics Satan uses against families. Eventually the divide was too much to bear. That picture perfect family we met earlier still had the look, but the beautiful bonnets were now replaced with mess-hiding caps. To the world outside nothing had changed. We still had the doting dad and the outgoing mom, and we were still well-behaved (you better believe it), but what was hiding underneath was not so pretty.  

After twenty years our parents divorced. To be honest, it was almost a relief for us girls. We had seen and lived the secret life first-hand, and it was exhausting. Years later, I had a chat with my dad about this time in our lives and how through the divorce I learned things that I would never have understood otherwise. Happiness is real. Marriage and family do not have to be a double-sided existence. You can live the life you show to the world.  

During the divorce, our parents were so very careful to make certain that we knew it was not about us. There were hurtful things between them, but it was just that – between them. My sisters and I watched as that relationship crumbled and died. Do not misunderstand, this was not easy to live through. I say it was a relief in the sense that the show was over. Just as if preparation for a performance takes over your life and once it is over you feel like you can breathe again. That is the relief we all felt.  

Scars from those years have smoothed over now with the salve only God can rub on. I can see His hand in so much as I look back. In the death of that marriage arose a friendship that I am not sure was there before. Forgiveness. I know that my mom was regretful of how she allowed the enemy to get a foothold into our home. She forgave my dad for what she perceived was his part in the breakdown of their marriage. She eventually forgave herself, which is the hardest person to forgive. My dad forgave my mom. It has taken years, but I believe all three of us have forgiven them both.  

I have spent many hours of my life reflecting on the destruction of my parents’ marriage and prayed just as many hours for the success of my own. Life throws things at us that can kill a union. I have seen it happen in my extended family and with friends. I have watched as a relationship suffocates and the light of love and respect dims to a dark and lonely death. I have also watched some of those same relationships survive and become even stronger and more vibrant than before. They were resurrected; they had a resurgence!

Listen to this, a Latin root word for resurrection or resurgence is surgere and literally means “to rise.” Do you realize that for something to rise, it has to have fallen or been flat? According to dictionary.com resurrection can also mean, “a rising again, as from decay or disuse, a revival.”

Our marriages can become mundane, predictable, flat, decayed, breakable…oh but… they can be extraordinary, exciting, fresh, and whole. We can have revival within our marriages!  

How, you ask? The same way we have revival in our churches. We surrender our marriage to God. We invite Him to be the head of our homes. We dedicate our lives to Him and His purpose. We stop living marriage as a couple, and we start living it as the three-strand cord.

He showed us in Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, “Two people are better off than one, for they help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble. Likewise, two people lying close together can keep warm. But how warm can one be alone? A person standing alone can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.”

It is time, friends, to take off those mess-hiding ball caps, deep clean underneath, and put on those beautiful bonnets of resurrection.  

Written by: Betty Ann NeSmith. Betty Ann and her husband live in Boston, GA.