My husband died when he was 29 and I was 28, after four and a half years of marriage. The last of those years was a crucifixion for both of us. Not long after his burial, I quit my job and packed the remnants of our life in my VW and, as he had done, set out on an unknown journey. My face looked backward until I saw that the tomb was indeed empty and that in rising, the Christ lifts us all.

I am grateful I am blessed with a healthy body that at 76 can kneel to dig and plant my garden, and rise with the hope that I will see it blossom and bear fruit.

When I am caught up in wonder, in any of its multifarious manifestations: amazement, curiosity, doubt, questioning, discovery, delight, I feel alive and present to the mystery and meaning of existence, I am wholeheartedly present and filled with the juice of new life.