As we headed for home once again in our faithful Highlander, I thought back over the last ten days. We’ve been fortunate to spend time with people we love who love us back, both on Sanibel Island and in northern Florida.

Our family first vacationed on Sanibel in 1979 with three young children, Nelson, Lars and Linnea. Nate had visited Sanibel as a young college student, still a teenager, driving from Northwestern University with a friend during spring break. He’d become infatuated with the island and its century-old atmosphere. No McDonalds, Wendy’s or Burger King, no malls, no traffic. On this trip in the early sixties, he made up his mind to return one day.

Nate couldn’t wait to show us Sanibel, so we took our first family vacation there in 1979. By then a causeway had been built between Ft. Meyers and the island, increasing traffic, both on roads and in resorts. But residents had put restrictions on building with an eye to preserving land in its natural state (more than half of the island) and not allowing structures to exceed two stories.

Being on Sanibel Island without Nate this time was difficult. He “found” this tropical paradise and had led us back there on many different vacations. It seemed he should be with us now. I couldn’t walk the boardwalk without seeing him there, coffee cup in hand, on the way to the beach. I couldn’t pass the outdoor hot tub without hoping to hear his laugh or his conversation with other resort guests.

This year we stayed with my sister’s family when normally we would have stayed in a separate unit. All of it seemed strange and slightly off-kilter like a parade without the marching band. Nate always kept the coffee pot brewing and the daily newspapers coming. He and my brother’s wife Leslie had a friendly competition going each morning as they tried to be the first to buy the other a New York Times.

Nate would walk through the kitchen during the morning melee of breakfast prep and say, “So what’s the program for today?” In his mind, running and doing was what kids wanted, and he was happy to deliver. Para-sailing? Skiing? Jet skis? Restaurants? Scooters? He encouraged them all, along with Easter brunch at the place with live chicks and kittens, and a costumed bunny handing out chocolate eggs.

In the late ‘80’s we went over a financial cliff, and that was the end of our trips to Sanibel. But the photo albums and our minds are chock full of happy memories, each made possible by Nate. I guess if I didn’t miss him like this, it wouldn’t say much for the relationship we had as husband and wife. God intends marriage to be two people joining hearts as if they’re two halves of one whole. When one dies, the marriage not only falls apart but the person left is missing his or her other half. That’s what I felt on Sanibel Island this year, that I was only “half there.”

Sometimes I wonder if that empty sensation will end or be filled with something else. Maybe it will continue through the rest of life. I remember dropping Mom off at her retirement complex apartment several years after Dad died. She’d moved there at his suggestion, as a widow. When I said goodbye at the door, I said, “We made it. You’re home.”

She said, “This isn’t home, because your father never lived here. It’s just my apartment.” She wasn’t being maudlin and was thankful for her cheery little place. She was just speaking matter-of-factly and truthfully.

I completely understand.

”Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise [women] but as wise, making the most of your time.” (Ephesians 5:15-16)

New babies are remarkable, even miraculous. I believe God is personally involved in creating each one as unique, meaning he or she is unlike anyone else who ever lived or will live. Even identical twins, difficult to tell apart on the outside, are one-of-a-kind on the inside.

Our little Micah Nathan, approaching eight weeks, has already made his likes and dislikes known. He can’t tell us in words, but by way of facial expressions or periods of fussing/contentment, he states his personal opinions. For example, he prefers facing forward in someone’s arms to looking over their shoulder.

He also favors the vibrating infant seat over the swing. He’s thumbs-up on bath time but thumbs-down on Skylar’s loud noises. But his absolute all-time favorite is bouncing on the giant exercise ball. No matter what condition he’s in, whether tired or rested, fussy or copasetic, moving up and down on the ball is Micah’s version of a great time.

And so we are all on the ball!

What’s the explanation for such a tiny child being so sure of what he likes? The only logical answer is that it’s woven into the multi-faceted DNA of each baby long before we get acquainted with him or her. Science has only recently begun to understand the complete story of DNA, coming up with the double-helix structure we’re familiar with in the 1950’s. Even with this extraordinary discovery, there is probably far more they still don’t understand than what they do.

While traveling to Florida and back during recent weeks, I’ve been working on knitting sweaters for my five grandbabies. (The British twins will debut any day now!) In my effort to control the yarn, I’ve often ended up with a snarl and must stop knitting to untangle it. But I look at a strand of DNA with its turned ladder structure, so tiny that it’s invisible to the human eye, and marvel that there are no snarls or knots. This is one of the many differences between my work and God’s. Mine tangles; his doesn’t.

Although our work is vastly different, God and I are both knitters. He’s told me so in the Bible, and as he goes about the business of weaving together a baby’s human genes, I believe the complicated double helix of DNA is what he’s knitting. I’m thankful he doesn’t make any mistakes as he goes along, no dropped stitches or strings wrapped backwards. Although I’m following the same pattern for all five of my little sweaters, God creates a new pattern for each individual.

Micah’s older sister Skylar is also quite clear on her likes and dislikes, at 20 months. Dramatically clear. Thankfully one of her likes is Micah. And as she sees the rest of us on the ball, she’s learned to be on the ball, too.

”For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” (Psalm 139:13)

“Here comes Peter Cottontail, hoppin’ down the bunny trail!” We sang this with gusto as little kids, excited for the Easter Bunny to visit on Easter morning. To this day, when I hear the organ play “Up from the grave He arose…” I can taste jelly beans. Mom’s only stipulation was that we not open the chocolate eggs while we had our white gloves on.

Most holidays have godly origins and purposes, which came through loud and clear to us when we were children. Our parents made sure to detail the God-honoring side of each tradition, yet somehow we managed to dip into the secular side, too, having happy times together.

Nate and I made an effort to pass along this same delicate balance to our kids, celebrating the sacred and secular in a reasonable blend. I’ll never forget a friend’s comment about her parents making holidays heavy on meaning and lightweight on laughter. She said, “The ‘worldly’ kids had all the fun.” I think that gives religion a bad name and makes God seem grumpy to children.

Now that Louisa, Birgitta and I have traveled from Sanibel Island to our daughter Linnea’s home in northern Florida, we shared in the pleasure of watching 20 month old Skylar dig into her Easter basket and go on an egg hunt. When she found candy inside each egg, she knew just what to do. Marshmallow bunnies never tasted so good.

Two month old Micah was on hand too, although he was more interested in regular feedings than holiday eggs. I remember one Easter when our whole relation was vacationing together on Sanibel Island. We’d packed 100 plastic eggs in our luggage, each one holding a few coins. We put a dollar bill in one, a five dollar bill in another and a ten in still another. These “babyish” eggs had enough pull in them to get even the older kids involved, with enthusiasm.

Last year, when Skylar was only eight months old, we received an adorable photo of her wearing pink and white bunny ears. Nate fell in love with that picture, asking me to get a hard copy for him. When I did, he raved about his darling granddaughter and took the picture to his office. There he posted it on the door with a caption under it: “The Easter Bunny made it to Florida.”

Every family has its own traditions. Laughter and good cheer ought always to have a place in them. And today, on Easter, we felt like exploding with joy over Christ’s resurrection. What better day than this to have a party!

^“Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let them say among the nations, ‘The Lord reigns’!” (1 Chronicles 16:31)