We’ve been enjoying some beautiful weather this past week. Sunny skies, warm temperatures. Birds have been chirping every morning and the first flowers forced their way through the mud, blooming purple and white. We opened up all the windows on more than one day and aired out our home with the fresh smell of spring.
These first sights and sounds of the new season always brighten my mood. Life feels a bit lighter, easier.
On Monday storm clouds moved in, and with them came more snow. A wintery mix continued, in varying degrees, all day. And as the flowers, grass and tree branches again accepted the shroud of winter, I felt weighed down with disappointment.
I love winter — in its time — and understand that death must be accepted before rebirth can occur, but this just feels unfair. Winter had receded, spring was emerging…and then winter cheated.
I’ve been sitting, poising my pencil above paper, then pausing to again stare and think, trying to understand why this bothers me so. Why do I care if winter snow falls another time or two while spring awakens and stretches?
I think it’s because I know in my heart that God gives us the seasons to remind us of our relationship with Him. And I don’t like the correlation to my own life.
The seasons are tumultuous and amazing. I can handle that. I can appreciate the snow covered winter landscape, gracing death with beauty that will eventually nourish. I can marvel at spring, producing the seeds that summer will dry out so that they do not rot during their long wait for life. And I can revel in fall’s scattering and dispersing before winter’s grip catches and deeply roots.
It’s the transitions that rock me. I want the first glimpse of spring in my life to mean that there will be no more winter. I only want to face one season at a time.
Maybe dealing with more than one season at a time just feels like too much to handle. Having to live with the old once the new has been tasted. Having to keep struggling with death once rebirth has begun. I just want the transformation to be complete.
God could have made the seasons without any struggle in between. But He didn’t.
I don’t have a tidy ending for this post. I guess that’s appropriate.