I'm taking some liberties here. My first name really is Mary. No one calls me that (except doctors and people at the BMV), but it does give me some affinity with my favorite woman in the Bible.
Here I am, Easter morning 1960. My mother went all-out to host an Easter-egg hunt for my first-grade classmates in Vero Beach, Florida. We were about to move from our little rented cottage to the house my dad had (literally) built for us, a few blocks from the beach, but we had a big yard in the meantime. I have a couple of clear memories of my consultations with my mother that spring, over the decor for the first bedroom that I would have all to myself and over the details of my Easter party. The former involved seashells and fishnets; the latter, prize eggs wrapped in gold and silver foil.
Things change. Mothers die before bedrooms can be finished, and brothers, and sons. Oh yes, sons. You might think I would have forged a friendship with Mary, the mother of Jesus ~ and in fact I have been doing so, very slowly.
But the person I am mostly likely to have been friends with had I been alive on Easter morning in the year 30 is this one, Mary Magdalene. The kind of woman who goes off to investigate a cemetery early in the day. Heartbroken, curious, vocal, determined. "Perseverance" is a word that has been mentioned in my own case. For a long time, I didn't care. But now I hope it applies.
Hope. Risen. Victory. Life. Amen.