The first word I learned to spell was ―candy.‖ When we were on family excursions, my father would ask my mother when we stopped at a store, ―C-A-N-D-Y?‖ For a while his secret code worked, but soon enough I caught on. I’d pull their coat sleeves, repeating the let-ters with his same questioning tone: ―C-A-N-D-Y?‖ With the advent of my father’s death on April 13, many sweet memories fill my mind: the way he’d reach into his pocket as we got older and give each of us a dime so we could choose our own treats on those family treks; or the crinkle of the bag he held on Valentine’s Day as he’d lift out five small hearts filled with chocolates at the dining room table; or the sound of our squeals when he’d bring in the pan of fudge we’d begged him to make some Saturday nights as we watched ―The Honeymoon-ers.‖ From ferry boat rides to fishing trips, camping adventures to tennis games, I shared many special moments with my father, alone as well as with my two brothers, sister, and mother. Of course it is in this time of loss I hold such memories close. In the quiet of my mourning, I cherish times shared, grieve that there weren’t more, and feel deep sadness that my father’s life on earth is now ended. I’m also grateful for your many prayers that surround me. As people ask, ―Is there anything I can do for you, Lael?‖ I find myself answering, ―Reach out to someone and let them know you care.‖ In the spirit of life everlasting and of God’s love that never ends, live with courage, make connections, build community. We hold the gift of life in our hands this very moment. May it be sweet, rich, full, even in times of sorrow. May we share it with trust and joy, together and with God, all in the light of the empty tomb. This is the Easter promise. Thanks be to God. Prayerfully from The Reverend Lael Atkinson