Eastward towards Son Rise

I read a commentary in the "Modern Love" essays in the New York Times Saturday that made an impression on me. In fact, I wanted to write the author, Pete MacDonald, and tell him how sad I felt when I read it. MacDonald spoke of a visit he made after his and his wife separated-to his mother's grave. His visit was, apparently, an attempt to make peace, to find peace, to get some distance on the tragic events of his childhood. It really was a sad essay-the sense of regret, of past loss, of resignation lingered like acrid smoke after a house fire.

I hoped he had found some happiness in a life that seemed so bleak-and recognized that the tale he spoke of in his essay was a snippet.

Sitting in the prayer room at church this morning, I wondered-were Christians really more joyful people? I know I've known some truly dour believers-people who looked and acted, as Alice Longworth Roosevelt said in another context, like they'd been weaned on a pickle. But I've also known godly people who seem filled with supernatural peace-and can face awful events assured of a love that endures.


"Rise, heart, Thy Lord is Risen"

He is risen indeed.