It has been a long winter. Very long.
Even for this ‘snow loving, embracing negative temps‘ Minnesota girl.
I find myself intensely seeking out signs of spring.
There’s little league practices on our calendar. Garage sale signs on the corner. But the weather forecast says snow, on April 15th. The earth not yet practicing its poem.
My camera and I head outside. Yearning for a promise. To know that we have not been forgotten.
When I look hard enough, when my lens is zoomed in close enough, the promises come into focus. I notice purple that from the street is just a smudge of color.
Small buds shyly whispering, “just wait”
New green boldly popping through dirt.
Hints of what is to come restore my vision. They satisfy my longing, just enough to make it through one more cold day.
Some years spring giddily comes, sliding into its spot. Some years it seems hard-fought. A battle against the deadness dragging on, eventually saying new life wins.
My soul resonates with the seasons. Recalling my own journeys through trials and grief and death. Times of wondering if it will ever be spring again. Eagerly searching for any signs of hope, of life, of singing again. The colors of spring seem the brightest when they defy the grayest of winters.
Soon this bush in our front yard will burst into bloom. Soon I will forget that winter was so long. Soon I will take the palette of color for granted.
But some winters leave scars. Deep haunting scars.
Scars redeemed by new life, transformed by new beauty and restored by the story they tell.
I remember now. Winter and Spring. Death and life. My soul is shaped by them both. My heart longs for the rhythm only they can create.
I invite each of you into the anticipation of spring, the hope of new life… remembering the winters and deaths that prepare their way.
