Yesterday at the Easter service I held my big six year-old boy in my arms during the first hymn. Henry still likes to be held during hymns--it is a precious ritual--but he’s getting heavy, so I usually tell him Daddy will hold him. But March is a month of remembering, and I could not help but remember Easter six years ago when I held my son Henry--a tiny red-faced bundle, opening his mouth and rooting for his mommy every few hours. He was one-week baptized and my body still reminded me of his recent delivery. And my heart was still newly-aching from my brother’s death. Resurrection Sunday either meant more to me than it ever had before, or it meant absolutely nothing. That Easter and every Easter since (even in Germany, in German) we’ve sung the new hymn In Christ Alone by Getty and Townsend. I think it was written for me, truly. In March of 2007, the space of three days held my brother’s final breath and my son’s first ...