Ours is not a crisis of knowledge, but rather, it’s a crisis of love…
The song was written in November just as a northern prairie winter was starting to settle in; hardly a season (physically or emotionally) for Easter joy. For me, it was a season of terrible sorrow and anxious dread…
“We were sent here to search for the light of Easter in our hearts. And when we find it, we are meant to give it away generously.”
“Make peace with your powerlessness,” my dad said, realizing my struggles. “You’ll find peace and beauty in your own death if you do…”