Practice Resurrection

Wendell Berry has that great poem that concludes with one simple sentence: Practice resurrection. But it’s not that simple. It’s not really clear how any one does that even though we might try to savor each day. This year, I needed a resurrection. I needed it more than I needed a hero. (Bonnie Tyler is singing in my head.) I really needed resurrection. I needed to do more than leap. I needed to experience something tangible that would allow me to see this world and my life with new eyes. I’ve also been planning for this resurrection for a long time.

Save the date cards went out in the mail to my nearest and dearest. A house was rented in the midst of a place I have always wanted to go. It would begin — as resurrection sometimes does — on Easter Sunday. A dozen of old and new friends slowly began to make their way to join me in Sonoma, California to practice resurrection.

It was a vacation like none other — though there’s talk about a reunion of this vacation. I suppose that means hanging out with wonderful people in a beautiful place sipping fabulous wine and eating like kings never really gets old. It’s what makes life sweet. It may even have been what the poet was thinking about when he penned these words. Maybe. I won’t worry about his intentions. I will simply claim my own. I feel so loved tonight. It’s a hard thing to remember when my closest friends and family are so far away from me most of the time, but it was the reminder I needed. I needed to feel that love that only people who have loved you a long time can give. I’m so grateful that I didn’t skimp on this vacation. I’m so delighted that I chose to live so boldly and even more grateful for the friends and family that practice resurrection with me (especially when they would never call it that).

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