You may have heard that the incredible poet Andrea Gibson died this week. Andrea was Colorado's Poet Laureate, and and while Poet Laureates aren’t always household names (Minnesota’s is Gwen Nell Westerman, it case it wasn't on your radar!), it's a role that engages the public with the literary arts. Their duties often include giving public readings, writing poems for public occasions, leading workshops, visiting schools and libraries, and generally helping to connect people to poetry and culture. Andrea Gibson did that so beautifully that they became known even outside Colorado. They've been described as a "candid explorer of life, death and identity", and were featured in a documentary that won the Festival Favorite award at Sundance.

I’m sharing this with you not just because Andrea’s poetry is extraordinary overall, but because of one poem in particular, that was shared after their death. It’s called Love Letter From the Afterlife. It begins, “Dying is the opposite of leaving…”. The poem is full of wonder, tenderness, and rich imagery about death. It reads like sacred text.

As people of faith, we don’t believe death has the last word. We believe in a God who opened death like a doorway and invites us into a story where, even in the midst of sorrow, love keeps moving and life keeps speaking. Every time we gather around the table for communion, we’re reminded of that promise. Christ meets us in the bread and wine, and we’re drawn into something eternal. We say, “with all the saints,” and we mean it. We're reminded that Love is always alive.

Andrea’s poem may not use explicitly churchy language, but the heart of it is something we know deep in our bones: that love endures, that presence lingers, and that the people we’ve lost are not really gone. It is a powerful truth that transcends religious doctrine - and worth sharing.

My prayer for you this week is that you catch glimpses of the holy just beyond the veil, right where and when you need them. My prayer for you is that you carry with you, wherever you find yourself, the quiet sense that God is always weaving a story of love and life in the world around - and beyond - us.

Blessings,
Jennifer