It’s holy week. And I’m undone in a most precious way. Not precious like the face of a smiling child, but precious like diamonds chipped from coal or gold emerging from flames. The pages of stories tucked away in small passages of scripture are reminders to me of our undeniable brokenness and God’s unfathomable kindness. The headlines that hang on the days – of terror and bloodshed and pain – are a testament to a world so far away from the Eden it was created to be. And yet, there is hope. Always, hope. Always.

I’ve been writing down thoughts since I was a child, and sharing them on this blog for a decade. Of all the seasons on the calendar, it’s Easter I’ve written about most (save for the annual Christmas letters that have moved from paper to post).  Rather than write new Easter things this year, I’m going…