Dear Reader,

It’s Good Friday, a time when Christians contemplate the crucifixion of Jesus and the sacrifice he made for humanity.

Growing up Baptist, I spent many a Holy Week leading up to Easter Sunday in church with my family.

While my spirituality and how I practice it look very different now than back then, I hold dear memories of those days.

This morning, memories flooded back from an Easter Sunday following my father’s motorcycle accident.

My mom, dad, little sister, baby brother, and I still lived with my father’s parents.

My Granny Stephens, giving her all to care for us while Mom was caring for Dad, took us shopping for new Easter dresses.

At 8 and 10 years old, my sister and I were growing like weeds.

I vividly recall that dress – fine white cotton, crisp and pristine, adorned with a two-tone belt of deep purple and dark raspberry.

The dress’s yoke had delicate, silky stitching in matching hearts, a subtle yet beautiful detail.

Finally, Easter Sunday arrived, and I...