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THE GARDENER When the Sun begins its journey Across the heavens, Will we jump to our feet and run, Run to the tomb as we did last year? Or will we rest in our fickle belief That Jesus is risen? I ask the question because I will never forget Running to the tomb, how it changed my life. I remember being afraid as I ran. What would I say to the soldiers? I remember wanting to make fun of them. “Do you not feel ridiculous Guarding a dead man? Do you not feel ridiculous Obeying a leader so filled with fear, Fear of losing power...to a dead man?” I remember thinking how I would carefully peel away the linen cloth, Wash him, annoint him the proper way, Touch him for the last time, Lay him to rest while wanting desperately To take some part of him with me, Perhaps a lock of hair. I remember meeting Mary on the way. I remember talking with John as we ran together. I remember seeing the gardener Whom I didn’t really see or recogn
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I regret not knowing who to credit for this image. INTERESTING Had we been buddies for three years, Would I have pretended not to know him? Would I have been absent from his execution? Would I have hid behind locked doors Fearing for my life? Would I have run To the tomb early Sunday morning To anoint his body Now drenched in the stench of death? Interesting questions. How far am I willing to go right now With those I claim to love? Perhaps therein lies an answer. Equally interesting: Not everyone ran away.
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The Spark Of God From Whence I Came I closed my eyes just for a moment When the invitation came To travel beyond the darkness Into the rich velvety midnight blackness Stretching inward,  Reaching into the caverns The caverns of my soul. Against my customary clinging To caution and safety, The invitation led me. Seemingly reckless and dangerous, I continued to follow Deeper and deeper Into the rich velvety midnight blackness, Eventually fading ever so slightly, Giving rise to a faint glow On what I could only presume Was the horizon of my soul. A distant flickering spark Now grabbed me like a wave Pulling me ever closer Till I was immersed in the spark. It was inexplicably familiar Like I was home. And I knew, I knew, This was the spark of God From whence I came. I had no desire to leave. The need to conquer anything Anything at all, including evil, Slipped away. “This is the place to live Even in the
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AUTUMN Autumn Was her favorite time, Time of year. Colors― Ambers, Burnt oranges, Deep reds― Warmed our home Which she adorned with leaves, Leaves preserved to remind us Of Autumns past and present. Now, She has passed far beyond Even the Autumn of her own Earthly life To a place not a soul here Knows about. And yes, It’s October again. And yes, I miss her so.
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MY HEALED HEART “Thank you, God For my healed heart.” A prayer I have been repeating Over and over again  For the last two and one half years. And with the prayer the obvious:  excitement and joy. Yes, for the last two and one half years. You see, with God There is no time. So I will continue repeating Over and over again, “Thank you, God For my healed heart.” Feeling the obvious: excitement and joy.
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Painted by Roberta Bradley A Possessive Lover Indeed As many todays As people on the face of earth. One for each of us. Have you claimed yours today? I’ve been wanting to give mine away In exchange for tomorrow’s catastrophes, Worse, next month’s catastrophes. “Breathe,” she tells me. I breathe in slowly. Exhaling, Blowing out the candles One by one, One for each catastrophe. “Hold me,” Today whispers, Close to your heart. I am yours, You are mine, if you wish. I’m all you need.” Taking comfort in our embrace I take a deep deep breath and another. “I’m so lucky I have you,” I whisper back.
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY TERI NICHOLS

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A SWEET LIFE (however bitter) Sunshine trickling through The branches gently swayed By a silent barely-detectable breeze, Like your sweet life sifting Sifting through time Like powdered sugar, sprinkled-dusted On a dozen warm donuts in the cold Heat of winter, On a dozen warm donuts in the cool Heat of summer morns. Yes, sunshine trickling Trickling through Like sixty five years, Years of a sweet life.
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