by Mary Louise Bernard, MMNN Contributor

I hadn’t planned on getting up early but Flash, my grey tiger-striped cat made himself known before dawn on Good Friday. His claws had captured one of my feet as he tried to bite my toes. The battle raged on for a few seconds. Flash had won – my sleep was taking from me. I carried Flash out to the front door to let him boast his victory and then I noticed the crimson sky as a new day awakened.

Despite the beauty of the morning I still climbed back into bed trying to recapture my escaping slumber, then another battle emerged, this time with my conscience. Something urged me get up and go, but my body insisted on rest. After a few tosses and turns I had been beating again and sprung out of bed. Within minutes I was out the door and in the car, with my mason jar.

I drove to the path leading to that babbling brook where I used to go. The path had disappeared but the snow had melted enough for me to find my way down to the brook. It had been years since I’d been there. I crouched down and rinsed my face with the cold fresh water, awakening a memory.

In our Mi’kmaw Christian tradition there are some that believe that all flowing water becomes holy water on Good Friday morning. It is believed that on the day of the crucifixion the sky opened up to release thunder, lighting and the torrid rains that created the flow of healing sacred water to heal the pain of sins of mankind. This Good Friday, it was just me and some ghosts from the past. I wondered if ...