Psalm 31:1–4, 15–16 Job 14:1–14 or Lamentations 3:1–9, 19–24 1 Peter 4:1–8 Matthew 27:57–66 or John 19:38–42
In 2012 I received a new life. In truth, it was my same old life, but finally my eyes are open. Last year I went rapidly from robust good health to cancer diagnosis, to surgery, to the news that the cancer had not spread, and so back to good health. One might think that I have come full circle, but that is not quite the case. My world, like Dorothy’s when she stepped from her wrecked house, has gone from black and white to vivid Technicolor.
I have always been an early riser, not by choice and, at times, not without frustration. But now I leap up at first light and raise the shade to another day stretching out before me like a golden highway. I have been given another day to experience God’s timeless peace and love. I can engage in useful work. I can read a book. I can dig the garden, play with a child, mend a quarrel, laugh with friends, listen to music. Like anyone, I do not know how many more dawns I will be given, but now it no longer matters.
Today we await Easter, as we do all during Lent, all through our lives. But there is another Easter that dawns repeatedly within our hearts, even when we least expect it.
Every day can be an Easter Day.