“For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone” Song of Solomon 2:11
Oh, Lord, what a wonder You are! I stand back and exult in the coming of yet another magical spring, so beautiful it takes my breath away. I’m over-the-top pleased–surprised at its sudden arrival, and astonished at gossamer puffs, high and lifted up, cloud upon cloud, and sparkling sun jewel hung high in sky awning: necklace of light.
When did it begin, and why? Was borning beauty tucked quiet under white, and protected under blue-gray ice? Was cold, good earth pregnant and white and mother in waiting? Were bulbs bursting and becoming even when all I saw was icicles on roof edge? Was life begetting life in unseen womb and giving form and shape and color and essence even as crusted snow trudged under filtered light?
Was there a wooing and winning of one season over another even as I waited and stirred vegetable soups and tapped feet, impatient for the wedding and done with the engagement?
Did Spring bedeck herself and don fragrance even as I searched the sky for evidence, and sighed large?
Where really “was” the season I craved? Where had it gone and for how long should I wait? Would it come and would it seal my longing with “yes!” and “here” and “now”?
Was there anything I could do to hurry the debut, the opening act? Could longing be a key to open the lock? Could prayer push or shove? Could wishing devise a door? I wondered and I tried.
But no, and no, and no!. I could not make it come, but I could stay in the waiting room and “faith it“ out I could take hold of what was, and embroider it with a true presence. I could enrich the wait with a song in my heart, and a lilt in my step, and laughter out loud and big. I could dance the dance of the season at hand — not wish it away or erase the days so freely given.
So then, I can and I will. Sit still in the season at hand , and watch the birthing of another. Abide. Still my soul. Order my feet. Touch base with today. Sing the songs of now, and this, and “is”. Take hold of gift and giver. Good God of the seasons, hold me! Touch me with wonder, sweet and now, and fill me with “this” while spring erupts.
Spring will come, is coming, is present and very present under the last of the sheeted snow and frosted ice and tommorrow. Restore my wandering gaze and teach me thanks. Help me love the season that is: in life, in weather. Here then, are questions, longing, and premature desire. Here, is me. Here is now. Here is this, and this, and this.
And thank you,
And thanks, God of winter, God of spring, God of all.