Was it a morning like this?

I love this question.

It joins me to that day of when the women ran to the tomb 

and found it empty

and the death clothes folded neatly to the side.

This morning, with morning hair atop and cup o' coffee in hand 

standing in the front doorway

inhaling the pollen and morning sun

while Charlie dog darted out into the wild suburban world

and all is well in my world...

Was it a morning like this?

With my neighbor's jasmine sending up aromatic prayers

and the owl behind the house hooting a call

and Howard still sleeping...

Was it a morning like this?

As I sit here, all caffeinated

the prodigal Charlie returned from his walk-and-sniffabout

Howard waking

Friend Betty heading up to get ready for Easter service

I am wondering what to do with this morning.

The despair of Friday

giving way to a Saturday waiting 

and Sunday celebration

of hope

new life

reason

purpose

and love.

What to do when this morning becomes tonight

and I stub my toe on an old hurt

or tomorrow when - while running, my heart breaks in the missing of friends and family

or I pass the guys in the median who's arms are heavy with newspapers and hearts as crinkled as their sunburnt skin.

What to do with this message of hope, life, reason, purpose, and love?

And I guess the real question

that comes to this wayward sheep is

Knowing that the tomb was empty

do I keep this joy to myself?

Am I willing to be inconvenienced to meet the people who scare the bejesus out of me?

Will I offer the water I keep in the car to the thirsty harsh-looking guys at the stoplight?

Will I begin to live like the tomb was empty.

Because whether you believe it or not

I do.

And this morning reminds me

not of eggs and bunnies and tulips

but of suffering

sacrifice

radiance

worship

miracle 

and joy

encountered each day

 in this life

 and the lives of the people

who scare the bejesus out of me

who sell the Houston Chronicle in the median

who hate me

who sit in their suburban beautiful homes

and wonder what makes this morning so special.

I'm not very smart.

I am a distracted sheep

prone to straying

Too fluffy

still gimpy from battle scars

and my own foolishness.

I will not debate with you to win.

I cannot win.

But I can offer you 

the offense of the cross

as it points to fresh water

and hope

and life

and reason

and suffering

and sacrifice

and radiance

and worship

and miracle 

and joy

and mystery.

Baaaaa. 

* * * * *

Consider clicking this link to a favorite song. I'm not what you'd call a fan of Sandy Patty or of this style of music, but this song bring reason and mystery and worship and joy to a morning like this. (I can't watch it. I just close my eyes and listen.)