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.