I woke up feeling nothing, nothing at all. Zombie. I thought about Easter. I thought about church. I got up, turned on the computer, looked up redemption and resurrection online. The first dictionary had the inadequate definitions below, then a reference to the Christian meaning. The second, Miriam-Webster online, had the Christian meanings only.

redemption, repurchase, buyback
the act of purchasing back something previously sold

resurrection
revival from inactivity and disuse; "it produced a resurrection of hope"

I thought about these things, trying to translate from abstraction to some concrete application in my life. And there is relevance. But no feeling, no sense of connection. And I wondered if there is truly resurrection—if there are only transitory flickers of light in life that deceive us into a false optimism.

I looked to the balcony—the sunlight growing in the east behind the trees. I made a cup of coffee, sunlight creeping into the kitchen, lighting my orange sweater on a chair, the pink hoodie I was wearing over my PJs.

I saw the windows are dirty.

Then, I saw an image on the sliding glass door. An upraised wing, each feather etched in the pollen dust coating the windows. I looked more closely: the imprint of a bird, the body and wing, briefly illuminated by the sun’s rising.

I took pictures of the wing imprint.

My mind marveled. Still, no feeling, nothing in my heart.

I made a cup of coffee, pulled a section of newspaper from a canvas bag with old papers. It was the Wall Street Journal from April 8-9. I saw a photo framed in orange of what looked like the Dalai Lama. Beyond his head, a pigeon in flight, wings outspread.

A Tibetan monk with a child on his knee in a courtyard in Ulan Bator. A story of the impossible transformed into possible—a heart repair this child received as a baby. Reading the story of all the people connecting in amazing ways to create one miracle broke through the wall around my heart.

Then I saw the binky dangling on a string attached to the boy’s red jacket. There was a binky attached to the pajamas of a baby in my life over twenty years ago. Another plane flight across the world, another miracle.

All the people play little parts, connecting, creating light. Resurrection over and over and over again. Not just resurrection for the children, but resurrection for all involved. Resurrection for you and me.