October—At First we Called Her Apple Seed

At first, we called her Apple Seed

Because that’s how big she was at the time.

And with that seed, 

Life grew out of nothing.

And then,

Just like a seed

Falls to the ground and dies,

She was gone.

And the darkness

And the ground 

Were the only traces 

We could see 

Of what was left of a soul.

We sat in the dark,

As though we, too, 

Had fallen to the ground and died. 

There was no escaping,

There was no minimizing,

There was no denying

Death. 

.

.

.

Then I heard the voice of Jesus ask,

As though I were the grieving Martha—

Because I was the grieving Martha—

“Didn’t I tell you 

You would see the glory of God 

If you believed?

I am the resurrection 

And the life, 

Do you believe this?”

I did not believe. 

I had forgotten that death is a starting point. 

And so we finally called her Resurrection—

Annie—

For a million reasons.

Because of our stubborn hope.

Because of what was reborn in us. 

Because she set the course of my studies 

On the new trajectory of resurrection. 

Because she resurrected in us

The idea,

The hope,

The absolute necessity,

Of resurrection.

Resurrection was a fitting name.

Because a seed 

Fall to the ground and dies

To be reborn 

And bear fruit.