"Do you want the Jesus picture from the hallway?" my sister-in-law asked, while cleaning out my childhood home. She knew I had walked past this illuminated image every evening and morning. "Of course!" I replied. I leaned the large frame against my basement wall. Years passed. I notice it, again, this week — Holy Week. Right here is my childhood image of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. Then and now, both weeks filled with deep grief, agitation and thoughtful prayer. I lovingly wipe away dust, open the incasement, remove a burned-out bulb, and prepare to bring back the light.