Could I Be More Grateful ? — My Reflection in the Garden of Gethsemane

Like the olive treeAncient branches knotted, fused —Your will one with that of the Father.Branches twisted, pierced through.Soon Your sinews, muscles would strain, contorted,Flesh torn.Yet You chose to meet Your betrayerWent willingly, boundYou who spread out a universeTo declare Your glory.Now Your glory shoneFrom obedience to deathOn a cross of wood.Fulfilling all things,Righteous Branch,You burst…

How My Song Began

In the pink bedroom with the pink shag rug, two windows faced the maple tree and our suburban Maryland street, 67th Avenue. I lived in this house in Parkway Estates all my growing-up years. At night when it was very quiet, I could hear a train whistling miles away in Cheverly, or traffic rushing on…