At a party, when a woman, without giving notice, anointed Jesus with perfumed oil,

Is resurrection just a story Or is it the uncovering of our sight Some of the greatest followers Did not recognize the one they once knew

Is actually a we The what I am is what you are There is no separate me For I don’t weigh a single pound Nor look a single see I can’t be touched, I can’t be found My body I can’t be And so it is with you, my friends You are unseparably The we what are the you the I The whom the her the he.

The book begins with the author’s father—and the author himself— dealing with the death of wife and mother. It continues with the author’s powerful encounter with his dying father, then proceeds with poems mourning his father’s death and its aftermath. The second half of the book contains poems which remember and honor significant people and experiences in the author’s life. As a pastoral psychotherapist, the author finds the Bible and spirituality to be major healing resources, along with memories of some key people he writes about who have helped him grow and heal in his life. What happens in writing is a mysterious and awesome thing, and the very process of remembering and writing these poems has helped the author mourn and find some healing.

Renowned essayist Tom Ehrich turns to poetry as a fresh form of expression. His work draws on daily life: a couple breaking up in a coffee shop, a grandchild sleeping, hearing a train whistle on the Kansas prairie. Ehrich looks for the central meaning of small events.

As the Winter Solstice approaches in the north, we notice the changes: the days of light are shorter, the darkness is longer, the weather is cold, the trees are bare, and snow is often on the ground. John Matthews, who has lectured widely on Celtic and Arthurian traditions, has written this lyrical passage about Winter Solstice: "The Solstice is a time of quietude, of firelight, and dreaming, when seeds germinate in the cold earth, and the cold notes of church bells mingle with the chimes of icicles. Rivers are stilled and the land lies waiting beneath a coverlet of snow. We watch the cold sunlight and the bright stars, maybe go for walks in the quiet land. . . . All around us the season seems to reach a standstill — a point of repose."

"If I should have a daughter, instead of Mom, she's gonna call me Point B ... " began spoken word poet Sarah Kay, in a talk that inspired two standing ovations at TED2011. She tells the story of her metamorphosis -- from a wide-eyed teenager soaking in verse at New York's Bowery Poetry Club to a teacher connecting kids with the power of self-expression through Project V.O.I.C.E. -- and gives two breathtaking performances of "B" and "Hiroshima."

Something really bothers me Lord You said that we have to be like little children But I’ve just come from my sister’s house And my little nephew was there And he was having a right tantrum

"You don't know when you will die, celebrate tonight, you don't know when light will dawn, celebrate the storm..."

Yes, we all will one day die; but not even death can bury the love and peace we have shared. Our acts of kindness, strivings for justice, and practices of compassion are the eternal verities that give our life meaning and purpose, and will put our death in the context of a life that cannot be denied.