I wonder what she may have experienced. Mary Magdalene.  That first Easter morning.  She'd seen the stone rolled away, and the other disciple observed the linen cloth abandoned.  Mary stood outside the tomb crying.  Did she notice anything different, before she dared look into the empty tomb?  Did the morning light appear more radiant?  Did a warm breeze graze her wet cheeks?  Could she hear the whisper of leaves?  She bent to look in, and two angels asked, "Why do you weep?"  Did she place a hand over her chest, her heartbeat accelerated and wildly thumping?  Was she hallucinating?  Two angels robed in white?  Did she quickly swipe away the tears and look again?  She answered, "They took my Master, and I don't know where they put Him." 

She turned around and saw a man standing there, but she didn't recognize him.  "Mary," he said.  She knew His voice.  She must have shouted, her own voice ragged with awe, when she exclaimed in Hebrew, "Rabboni!"  She believed and clung to Him.  When He gently asked her to let go, did His touch leave the fragrance of resurrection and miracles on her skin?  When she ran back to tell the disciples that she'd seen and touched Him, was she laughing now, tears of joy spilling down her face?

I woke this Easter morning, a dark dream had made its way into the night watches.  I could feel my thoughts beginning to unravel. "Oh, I felt so powerless in this dream--out of control--cornered by evil and filled with fear.  On Easter morning?  How will I make it through the day with these awful images in my head?"  Then the voice.  Like Mary, I recognized the sound.

"Priscilla."

"Lord, it's you."  I rose from the bed and grabbed my Bible and read, "Trusting me you will be unshakable and assured, deeply at peace.  In this godless world you will continue to experience difficulties.  But take heart!  I've conquered the world." (John 16:33, The Message).  Now as I write this, the shadowy images of the dream are swallowed up in His light, His joy in me palpable.  I place my hand over my chest, my heartbeat slow and steady.  No fear.  No anxiety.  Deeply at peace.  Perhaps His touch leaves me, too, with the fragrance of resurrection and miracles on my skin this Easter day.  The stone rolled away, the linen cloth abandoned.  He is risen!  He is risen indeed!