Outside the basement window, what I can see at the top of the naked branches of the maple in the neighbor's backyard is a new and utterly welcome brightness against azure I haven't seen, I don't believe, for weeks. For reasons which go beyond my limited knowledge of meteriology, the sun could well have left the room of our lives for what seems most of April. Here a good day, there a good day--and the rest is gloom.
This morning there is no movement at all outside my window, no wind. A maroon glaze rises from the ornamental crabs off the deck because even though we've had no sun, those aching buds just can't wait to explode. If, today, the sun shines, all day, things will pop all over. In our annual garden out back, bright green shoots are dying to break forth. If spring isn't late, it's certainly been dallying--nothing but fog and cold and sprinkles since there was anything but snow.
But not this morning. Last night, just at dusk, like a promise, the clouds broke and the sun, at the western horizon blessed us with its bright and shiny face for ten minutes maybe. Last night, stars bejeweled the heavens, and this morning the branches of that maple are burnished with dawn.
Couldn't be more dramatic. Couldn't be more fitting.
This is Easter morning. A new day is dawning. The clouds have been rolled back like stone, death itself, buried in His place. He arose, and we have life because he did.
In our lives, Christmas means joy, but Easter is the triumph.
This morning's thanks--like none other--is resurrection.