Love Letters in the Morning

When my love and I first met
He wrote to me
Poetry, letters, songs of passion
His handwriting drew me
As the trickle of a rolling river
That somehow brings peace in constant movement
intertwining fingers of anticipation and repose
Each bend of the river was new
Each rock gently changing its flow
Redirecting the path to new revelation.
I ran to the mailbox, expecting, hoping,
Yearning for more of his words, his thoughts, his love
I never knew such love.
But I did . . .
You were there.
Your love letters sat on a high shelf
In a dusty cover with pages stuck together
That smelled new from lack of use.
Or sometimes in a drawer
With papers I never needed,
Pictures I never placed in an album,
Paper clips, rubber bands, and rusty scissors.
Your love letters
Your Song of Solomon
Your Psalms
Your Mathew Mark, Luke, and John
Your Genesis, Your Exodus
Your Romans and Jeremiah.
But now ancient words come alive like the morning paper
To run to the Book, expecting, hoping,
Yearning for more of Your Word, Your thoughts, Your Love
I never knew such love.
But I did . . .

“Your promises to me are hope. They give me strength in all my troubles; how they refresh and revive me!” Psalm 119:49

“Your words are what sustain me . . . They bring joy to my sorrowing heart and delight me.” Jeremiah 15:16

First Words

In my haughty humanity
I would have shouted "I told you so!"
to the wagging finger Pharisees,
to ambivalent Pilate and his dripping hands.
But You took a few steps out of a tomb
inhaling the fresh scents of the garden
to speak the name of a weeping woman
a social outcast who found herself alone yet again
to ask a simple question
"Why are you crying?"
and yet somehow I hear my name
tasting the salt of my own tears
as You wish us both the first
Happy Easter
stealing our tears from grief
and handing them over to joy
Robin Hood style
as we open our eyes
to see You
just long enough to grin
fall into Your arms
and then take off running.

"In his triumph, Jesus could have paraded though the streets of Jerusalem. He could have knocked on Pilate's door. He could have confronted the high priest. But the first person our resurrected Lord appears to is a woman without hope. And the first words he speaks are, "Why are you crying?"
"What a savior we serve, or rather, who serves us. For in his hour of greatest triumph, he doesn't shout his victory from the rooftops. He comes quietly to a woman who grieves...who desperately needs to hear his voice...see his face...and feel his embrace."
Ken Gire, Moments with the Savior

"Woman," he said, "why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?"
Thinking he was the gardener, she said, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him."
Jesus said to her, "Mary."
She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, "Rabboni!" (which means Teacher).
John 20:15-16