Today my prayer carried me to the garden on the morning of the resurrection, where Mary Magdalene stood before the empty tomb. I imagined the smell of earth after night dew and the quiet that comes before the day fully wakes. The tomb was the last place she knew to look for Him and the last link she understood. If His body had been moved, even that final connection would slip away from her grasp. I could feel the ache in her question to the man she believed was the gardener, and I could sense how loss can narrow vision until nothing else seems possible.

As I lingered with her sorrow, I recognized textures of my own grief. Since my mother’s death, I have held tightly to the things that keep her near to me. I gather photographs, notes in her own handwriting, and ordinary objects that carry her touch. These reminders help me remember her presence and the love that shaped me so deeply. As time passes, certain details grow softer in my mind, and the sound of her laugh is harder to recall, and this quiet fading can feel like a second loss that arrives without asking permission.

In that place of longing, the Gospel offers a turning that feels simple and holy. Mary hears her name. One word meets her with love that recognizes and restores. She turns toward the voice that knows her, and the world opens again with hope that cannot be kept inside a tomb. It is striking that the moment of recognition rests not on sight alone but on the sound of her name spoken by Jesus, and this speaks to the kind of intimacy God desires with those who search for Him.

This recognition has become a quiet confession in my own prayer. The memories I hold may change over time, but the love of Christ remains faithful and near. He knows my name and calls me when I am tired and when I am afraid. He comforts me when I reach for what I cannot keep and strengthens me when I step forward into what I cannot yet see. He is my Lord and my King, and with the grace He gives I will follow Him forever.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, You are the One who calls each of us by name in love that does not fail. When grief narrows my sight, let Your voice widen my hope and draw my heart toward You. When I cling to what is fading, teach me to rest in what is eternal and good. When I feel the ache of absence, meet me with Your presence and renew my strength to walk in faith. You are my Lord and my King, and I desire to follow You all my days. Amen.