I came on a silent retreat.

Chitchatted with my sister on the phone, emailed colleagues about the yearbook, wrote a lesson plan, graded papers, connected around the international women’s work, you know.

Took a long walk, saw a brown shape, looked like a walnut wooden mask, the size of an overripe orange; it was a bloated dead mouse, (so gross), probably dropped from a hawk’s mouth onto my path. Wondered about those last few minutes of the mouse’s life – in the hawk’s mouth, terrified, exhilarated.

Met a woman at the first lunch, an elder, a liturgical dancer, named Mary Elizabeth. Talked about how we love our name, despite its length, royalty. She goes by Betsy.

Then, Good Friday, all meals, silent. I thought about beloved mentors who’ve died, Mark O’Donnell, Dan Wakefield, of course, my dad Edgar. How they all believed in me (usually); how they all laughed heartily (usually) at my jokes.

I told myself, Stop being so self-involved. Open your heart, I told myself. Notice the beauty of nature, to those yellow Daffs, to that fake-ish-looking Hyacinth.

I wondered if persecution is in the DNA of Christians? I told myself, Stop being morbid. Bloom. Flourish, flower from the dead earth. Spring eternal. Still felt my stem of resentment. Told myself, You have suffered nothing next to the child in Gaza.

I told myself, Consider the suffering of others, even my beloveds, mother and Chris, their struggles with Parkinson’s Disease. Beloved. Be loved. Be love.

I told myself, Say yes, to the silence. Retreat. Open to nature. Open your heart to nature, to beauty. Set down the luggage of resentment that you carry. Be light.

The sun came out. The earth came up with spring. I had nothing to do with it. Nothing, but notice. Be grateful. Be loved. Be love. Love.

For even if you choose to stay in winter, you will find yourself in spring, If you choose to stay who you were, you will find yourself who you are. You aim for silence, and find yourself in conversation. Even on Good Friday, even then, you have Easter.