Growing up, I never truly understood Memorial Day. My hometown of Holland, Michigan, would host a parade every year. Being part of a high school marching band, I was required to march every year in it—starting downtown, marching through the city, and ending at the cemetery. My band director always had one big rule: when we neared the cemetery, we were to stop playing our instruments.

We live in an older subdivision in the DC suburbs, and our house backs up to a wooded area. In the winter we can see other houses, but right now, I can sit on my back deck and see nothing but tall oak trees and green leaves.

Then there’s the sound. Just across the street, looming behind our neighbors’ houses, are tall sound walls to mitigate the noise from the busy four-lane parkway on the other side. We hear the rumbling noise of cars and trucks speeding by at 60 miles an hour whenever we’re outside.

Spring has finally arrived! That means warm days reading outside and bombarding my friends with book suggestions and bookish gifts. In my bookworm opinion, there’s nothing better than receiving a gift for your bookshelf. Think about all the different spring and summer gift-giving opportunities that are quickly approaching. Graduation is just around the corner, and confirmation is close behind. Baptisms are happening every day, and seminary students have received their vicarage placements or first pastoral calls.

Many of us—especially those of us up here in Minnesota—feel the drain the cold, long, and dark winter months have on our bodies and minds. We lack the vitamin D and the warmth the sun provides. Our bodies are sluggish. Our faces are chilled.

My preschooler has been among the many feeling the lack of the warmth and light of the sun. He has made it a habit of asking me the same question daily: “Mom, spring will come again, right?”

The Japanese kintsugi cultural tradition is a wonderfully pure example of what a life in Christ is like.

The art of kintsugi is practiced by only the most skilled artists in Japan. These artists spend years studying the art of pottery. They give each jar special grooves, designs, and nicks that result in a perfectly crafted piece with an absolutely vulnerable, breakable, lovely form. Each of these jars could run up to $1,000 American dollars—one pretty penny!

Today at work, I had an incredibly anxious day. Nothing bad or abnormal happened. I woke up, got dressed, clocked in, and already felt on edge. To my co-workers, I most likely appeared normal at my desk. I worked on my assignments, ate lunch, listened to my playlist, and went to my meetings. I doubt many of them that pass by my desk every day know I have about one anxious day a week. If anxiety looks so human though, what else does it look like?

The first few days of Holy Week have a weird in-between quality. We just celebrated Palm Sunday, when we remember the entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem with shouts of “Hosanna!” The drumbeat of Christ’s Passion has begun, far away but insistent, signaling the momentous events to come. We can hear it getting closer, but it’s not upon us yet.