When I write these devotions, often the world falls away, and I sink into the words and closeness with God. Nothing gets much better than that. In Waynesville, Illinois during the first years of our marriage and family, we learned to pray, learned the art of Sabbath, and felt the power of church love. Then one day Margaret said, "I think it's time for us to get into ministry." After campus ministry at Murray State University for Margaret, and two years in the Unification Church for me, nothing mattered more to us. But it was important for our family that I, especially, learn to spend time at home, spend time with Chris, Marc, and Andi, and especially with Margaret. I got better at this. So in 1988 we went back to seminary and in 1989 accepted a position at Christian Campus Fellowship at the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana. No more selling Britannica Encyclopedia, no more selling Jacques seed corn, and ... no more guaranteed income. Or at least not much.Now it was time to ask our friends for support. Many sent monthly checks. One friend invited us to his family's lakeside home twice a year for vacations. And I began to write letters to our supporters. That was fun for me, and every month I came up with a story or two and maybe a simple point to make. The main idea was always the same: Thank you! Thank you, God ... thank you, friends.A few stories in 1999, a few more in 2000 and 2001, then in 2002 I began to write reflections every day during Lent and Easter, and every day during Advent and Christmas. I started with a text from the Roman Catholic lectionary, got quiet, and let words flow. The devotions in this book are from 20+ years of the Triduum and Easter Sunday. Beating in and out, three days year after year, the Triduum fills my soul just as my heart fills my body with living blood. Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Vigil send me toward Easter every single year.There are years when I slouch toward Sunday, and years when I dance toward Sunday on the tips of my toes.There are years when I sing songs of joy, and years when I sing the dirges of Jesus' disciples, tolling skyward like nine tailors. All those years begin with death and end with life. And I am still alive, to see it, taste it, hear it, feel it, and smell it. Yes. Even smell it. Writing in this way, I learn to love God, and I remember again and again how much God loves me. That is what I hope for you, too. ¬ David Sandel, Urbana, Illinois