Easter Weekend wrap up

Our weekend revolved not only around the Easter Celebration but also the celebration of a good friend's wedding. Besides the obvious importance-of-marriage highlights, my top ones include

Taking lots of pictures (I love family photos!)
The band. Seriously, this bluegrass band did a great job entertaining all of us. They led the party all night at the reception (we square danced!) then back at the Inn (yes, I laid in bed listening to them play until 2am), and then on Easter morning the cellist played right outside of our window to welcome the morning.
(that is a cello, right?!)

Sunrise on Easter Morning

Hiking at the Natural Bridge State Park in Eastern Kentucky

We really had a great weekend full of friends (we did go up for a wedding!), great food (our friends are farmers!), laughing, fresh mountain air, and enough dancing and hiking to make my calves ache well into the week.

To top it all off, we had an Easter morning celebration that included singing Down in the River to Pray and Amazing Grace, a message about the significance of the historical ressurrection of a man named Jesus, and reading a poem by Mary Karr. We sat out on picnic tables over-looking a cliff and had nothing but our voices--no instruments, microphones, slide projectors, anything. It was serene and beautiful, perfect to reflect on the significance of what we were celebrating.

Descending Theology: The Resurrection

by Mary Karr

From the far star points of his pinned extremities,

cold inched in—black ice and squid ink—

till the hung flesh was empty.

Lonely in that void even for pain,

he missed his splintered feet,

the human stare buried in his face.

He ached for two hands made of meat

he could reach to the end of.

In the corpse’s core, the stone fist

of his heart began to bang

on the stiff chest’s door, and breath spilled

back into that battered shape. Now

it’s your limbs he comes to fill, as warm water

shatters at birth, rivering every way.

Descending Theology: The Resurrection

by Mary Karr

From the far star points of his pinned extremities,

cold inched in—black ice and squid ink—

till the hung flesh was empty.

Lonely in that void even for pain,

he missed his splintered feet,

the human stare buried in his face.

He ached for two hands made of meat

he could reach to the end of.

In the corpse’s core, the stone fist

of his heart began to bang

on the stiff chest’s door, and breath spilled

back into that battered shape. Now

it’s your limbs he comes to fill, as warm water

shatters at birth, rivering every way.