This weekend we broke out of the shadowed house and began living outside.

Friday night, Heather and I drove up to my parents’ cabin on the mountain, where the sky is black and the stars brilliant. We reclined on the hood of our friends’ truck and looked up. The trees drew ebony lines, reaching up against the royal blue-black of the sky. The stars looked down upon us, ages away, and flickered with explosive and burning life.

Saturday evening we set the dinner table outside in the back garden and ate together, surrounded by the sounds of night. Candlelight resonated on the wineglasses and glowed on the faces of my three friends. Behind us, the old house rose up like a white, ghostly cathedral.

After Sunday’s lunch, we sat in the sun with lunch guests, conversing and drinking in warmth. The skin on my cheeks, shoulders, and chest blushed red. All winter long my body thirsted for sunlight. And now I drink deeply of energy and light.

The trees and flowers outside burst into blossom this weekend – resurrecting and coming to life again. This brings us to the astonishing claim of Easter – that our souls are eternal. That there is life after death.

Sitting on the porch this evening, watching the waning of the light, feeling young and small, I try to comprehend resurrection and eternal life. That this often sad and frustrated life is not the end. That one day I will look down through the annals of time, an ancient soul, perhaps wiser and more joyful. That one day I will behold the face of God and dwell with him.

Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed … ‘Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’ I Corinthians 15:51-55