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Today feels like what Thomas Merton might describe as “the first day of Creation.” I feel the warmth of a sun that is already shining so bright and full through my window that I am unable to see my computer screen. I need to lean toward the south to shade the brilliance enough to type. It is glorious in both heat and light and leads me to shout silently to God that “this is what May is supposed to be like!” In my mind I am already out picking up branches that were victims of the wind these last three days. I can already imagine that by sunset there will be tiny leaves on branches everywhere—a gift from the mixture of sun and rain…just how things are supposed to be.

It’s difficult on a morning like this to remember words like pandemic. The reality slowly seeps in but at the same time I begin to wonder if there isn’t a way—or more than one way—to see a wholeness in what seems an overwhelming dissonance. Would I be able (or even willing to try) to maintain the lightness of being produced by the sun’s warmth and the consequent burgeoning of life in creation today while holding the reality of death and dying that is all around? It would seem an impossible task but I sense a worthy challenge in it for myself today.