Walking The Easter Garden
The Angella Fountain – Easter Sunday
HE IS RISEN….
For two years she stood in the weeds.
Delivered and left.
Wrapped in a blanket that did not quite cover her.
Exposed to wind and rain and waiting.
We had named her Angella the day we first saw her.
Even before she stood where she belonged,
she had a name.
There was a quiet sadness in walking past her.
She was beautiful, but misplaced.
Present, but not yet restored.
And still, there was hope.
A stubborn sense that one day
she would stand where she was meant to be.
There are places in every life like that.
Moments that feel unfinished.
Wounds that seem unattended.
Parts of us that stand in the weeds longer than we expected.
In another garden, early in the morning,
a woman stood weeping.
The stone had been moved.
The tomb was empty.
But grief can blur even good news.
She saw a man and thought he was the gardener.
And in a way, she was not wrong.
For it was the Gardener of a world made new standing before her.
Then He spoke one word.
“Mary.”
He did not lecture.
He did not unfold every mystery of
how death had been undone.
He called her by name.
Everything changed in that moment.
Not the landscape.
Not the sky.
Not even the garden around her.
But her heart.
Easter is not spectacle.
It is recognition.
Our Risen Lord walks in the places we thought were finished.
He tends what was broken.
He restores what seemed misplaced.
And He calls each of us by name.
And in time, what had waited for so long
was lifted and placed where it belonged.
Angella now stands in her place.
Water flows steadily.
What once waited now sings.
Not because sorrow never existed,
but because it was not the final word.
There is a Gardener in this world
who does not abandon what He has named.
And when He speaks, life rises.