In 1972, my dad, Bob Ponchot, traveled to the holy land. While there, he visited the traditional place of the tomb where Jesus was buried. He entered and saw the stone slab where the body of Jesus is said to have been laid. He placed his hand on the bare stone, fixed his eyes on the emptiness of the tomb. There was no visible evidence Jesus had ever been there. When Dad returned home, he wrote a song titled “The Empty Tomb.” The second verse and chorus say, “I walked in a garden, saw a tomb cut from stone, where once the Savior lay. Put my hand where He rested, and my eyes could not see that Jesus had ever been there. The tomb is empty praise God He’s alive, victory’s mine because He arose. Now I know when I die new life will be mine, because of the empty tomb.”

Our family always enjoyed visiting Colonial Williamsburg. My wife had visited it with her high school class long ago, so I had heard stories about it. When my wife and I were very young, prior to having children, we took a short vacation in which we tried to tour more of the southeastern states than was possible. On that trip, we stopped to look at Williamsburg—and “look” was all we had time and money to do, but the little I saw was fascinating.