The Son Also Rises, by Travis Lee Jones

The house is all spruced up for spring and Easter. Colorful eggs—the size an ostrich would lay—are nestled in a wooden bowl here and a planter there. We even have an Easter wreath, and I never knew such a thing existed. But when that sunlight rolls over the frosty hill and lights up the living room each morning, it brings with it the feeling of a new beginning.

I’ve sat still over the past few early mornings with a cup o’ joe at my kitchen table, waiting for the sun to rise as I struggle to offer up my burdens and give to God my sensible folly that always returns in times of trouble. I focus too hard on the trouble, and grumble about how to fix it, rather than, like a child, asking for and joyfully receiving the Grace to surrender them and persevere. …

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