Spring

It has been an extraordinarily long, harsh winter.
The cold that wouldn't quit. The snow that seemingly suffocated. The bitter wind that refused to die.
And with my little home of five stir-crazed, easily agitated, cooped up children (one of which was in a body cast for six weeks)...I yearned for spring to arrive. I begged for spring to arrive.
The past four months I have relinquished even being runner-up for the "Mom of the Year" award. If there ever was hope for my winning...it's buried somewhere beneath the layers of dirty white snow out my kitchen window. With each passing tundra-cold week, my patience slowly depleted. My voice has been raised on embarrassingly too many occasions. No, it's not been the best of winters this year for me. To be perfectly truthful.
But. Just as it always does...spring arrived. Just this week, in fact.

 I've never been so happy to see mud splattered all over my utterly delighted children. Somehow, it just feels right. This week we've taken as much opportunity as possible to soak in every single ray, jump in every single puddle, and kick every single rock as we venture back outside. I wholeheartedly believe outdoors is where the good Lord dwells. I'm convinced there's better reception to him through the beauty of His creation. There's something about strolling down the road, taking time to admire every branch of every tree, watching the clouds wisp by, seeking out bird nests, gathering pine cones. It just feels so....right. And refreshing. Renewing. Healing.

The past several days I've watched the snow banks melt further and further back. It's a beautiful, ugly sight. All the dirt and sand and muck is revealed, and with no more fresh-falling-white, its ugliness remains uncovered. The rain comes and tries to wash it away; attempting to leave no trace of the mess and the chaos that the long winter months brought. Slowly, daffodils and tulips will emerge, proudly declaring their survival. Grass will revive into lush shades of green. Trees will bud out in glorious colors and blossoms. Life will go on...because spring is a promise that life all around us is renewed.

I kind of wonder sometimes if God gives us these little things to enable us to see the bigger picture. I've experienced thirty-seven changing of seasons now...and with each passing one, I grow increasingly more appreciative of them. More aware. Not only of the beauty that exists and flows in cyclic pattern all around me...but also aware of the way life parallels the changing of time.
While we walked, talked and admired God's beauty underneath a bright, blue sky, I found myself once again internalizing over the past several months. Where I've succeeded, where I've failed. Where I am and where I want to be. Like the dead and decayed earth all around us in the midst of winter, I've been spiritually dormant. Drained of any and all resources and purposely hibernating. But I've come to the conclusion: I'm ever so thankful for the changing of seasons. Not only in this physical realm, but also the unseen, spiritual realm. The hard, difficult seasons that stretch and grow me. As painful as they are, those seasons refine and humble me. They remind me that although I have seasons that I think I have "life" all together...the cold, bitter winter will assuredly come; proving that I, in fact, do not. The ugly truth of my fleshly, daughter-of-Eve-nature will always, always be brought forth. It's inescapable. But the reminder of God's incredible grace...the newness of life that is extended again and again and again...indescribable.
It just makes spring all the more inviting.