My perfect moment in 2019 came before daybreak on Easter morning. I woke my children in darkness so they could ready themselves for church. The outdoor sunrise service was to start at 6 and I was anxious to experience the perfect moment of a brilliant peach-pink sky finally broken by the sun while we sat listening to the word being preached. But that wasn’t the perfection I found. Instead I was standing in the kitchen watching my daughter eat breakfast when I slid open the kitchen door and stepped out onto the deck and the morning darkness. The moon was still lit in the tree branches above me and the clouds were moving quickly as though they were being pushed by angels. It was silent out except for the singing birds who’d come back after six months in hiding. A feeling of renewal came over me there in the dark. I could hear my daughter scooping her cereal methodically, a few clangs of spoon against a ceramic cereal bowl, and I had this vision of that moment, 2,000 years ago, in a garden halfway around the world. Before dawn, Mary finding the tomb empty. Mistaking Jesus for a garden hand. The reason for her existence both confirmed and turned upside down — instantly. I imagined a setting just like this, and the sounds of the chains breaking and snapping from all of us in rhythm with my daughter’s inadvertent clangs. I could see and feel it in my soul. I spent the next several mornings awake at dawn, asking for that kind of clarity. The voice and Spirit of Jesus. Sometimes, it came.