It is ironic, is it not, how everything seems so poetic in death, yet we rarely see the poetry in life?
I couldn’t think of a more truer statement than this, spoken by a God-like king on the first page of Cheryl Anne Gardner’s book, The Splendor of Antiquity. True, we’d expect our Gods to say such profound things and the narrator of this book does not disappoint with such expectations. After all, he has been dead for centuries and our lead female, an archaeologists named Joliette Deneauve, is about to dig him up.
Today, I have remained neutral throughout most of my life when it comes to the topic of religion, but I grew up a Southern Baptist and carried a small hardcover Bible to Sunday School. It had a cartoon picture on the cover of Jesus walking through a rocky valley while carrying a baby lamb. Inside, there were a ton of other colorful illustrations that kept my young mind entertained when there was no chewing gum left in my mother’s purse or I’d grown tired of drawing stick figures of my own on the back of the church bulletin.
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