and ramblings on everything in between
This morning we woke before dawn and made our way to the retreat house where I attended church camp many moons ago. My mom’s church hosts a sunrise Easter service there each year and we have never gone before. We picked a good morning to start.
We sat in folding chairs on the porch where we used to fight over the two swings as campers, loading them up with 5 or 6 people and hoping they wouldn’t break. A few people wrapped themselves in blankets in the cool morning air and steam rose and twirled around styrofoam coffee cups in the hands of old men. Birds greeted us and the sun, and in the distance cows moo-ed their good morning.
Before listening to the story of Mary crying at the empty tomb, we sang “He Lives” and “Amazing Grace” out of tune, being left to our own devices without a piano or organ. The pastor reminded us to be an Easter Sunday in a Good Friday world. Meaning be hope and life and love in a world that is often hate and pain and death.
The story doesn’t end with death; it ends with life.
My silent prayer to the rising sun was that of thank you.
Thank you, thank you. If I said it every minute of every day, it still wouldn’t be enough.
We rise to a new day every day. A new day to fill with justice and peace and kindness. A new day to shine like the sun. A new day to praise because He lives.