When I was a little girl, Easter morning in my house smelled of vinegar and cloves. We were up early, before sunrise to see the sun shout. My father would attend an Easter sunrise service with his Masonic lodge, my mother would bake the Easter ham, and I would dye the Easter eggs.
Hate is easy and the domain of the lazy. This insight came in the darkness of the early morning. I wish I could say that it was due to a Lenten meditation that pierced my own darkness, but alas, it rose as I got up too late to do my study.