steady change
When I was young (from 3 to 30, say) I loved autumn over all the other seasons. Every year I'd yearn for the lowering sun, drying breeze and the crisp leaves. For me, fall embodied a rich nostalgia that even a youth could relish: the end of the growing season, the first frost and hints of snow to come. At that time I wanted the depth of experience that maturity brings, and autumn's mystique let me borrow those sensations for awhile. I believed the tale that autumn spun in and through me; nothing has ever felt quite the same.
Today that tale doesn't fascinate me like it did then. Over the years I've accumulated a boat load of experience and some scars; the appeal of nostalgia that was so sweet then has at least a twinge of pain now, if not a full ache. I don't need to long for autumn any longer to partake of richness and depth. Fall isn't my favorite season any longer. Now it's spring.
These 70° days have coaxed the buds out of the trees. Grass is nice, and flowers are great, but it's the pale green haze of trees coming back to life after a winter of retreat and death that gets my blood pumping and brings a song to my lips. I'm blessed with a view of a dramatic riverbank covered with trees promising this tender new life every time I leave my house. The next weeks will show pale green give way to light green to full green to dark green. Then it's Memorial Day, and summer's here; and that's ok. No, it's better than that: it's very good. But spring is awesome. It's the story of resurrection. It's the recurring natural manifestation of Jesus rising from the tomb. Thankfully lasting more than an instant, these short weeks of this pale green haze lets me relish the wonder of new life overcoming death once again. Critical moments in life are often so sudden--like Jesus' resurrection--that we might miss their significance. I need all the time I can get to let it wash over me, to soak in it, to let it sink in. It's spring!
Thank you, Lord, for the gift of new life once again this year.
Today that tale doesn't fascinate me like it did then. Over the years I've accumulated a boat load of experience and some scars; the appeal of nostalgia that was so sweet then has at least a twinge of pain now, if not a full ache. I don't need to long for autumn any longer to partake of richness and depth. Fall isn't my favorite season any longer. Now it's spring.
These 70° days have coaxed the buds out of the trees. Grass is nice, and flowers are great, but it's the pale green haze of trees coming back to life after a winter of retreat and death that gets my blood pumping and brings a song to my lips. I'm blessed with a view of a dramatic riverbank covered with trees promising this tender new life every time I leave my house. The next weeks will show pale green give way to light green to full green to dark green. Then it's Memorial Day, and summer's here; and that's ok. No, it's better than that: it's very good. But spring is awesome. It's the story of resurrection. It's the recurring natural manifestation of Jesus rising from the tomb. Thankfully lasting more than an instant, these short weeks of this pale green haze lets me relish the wonder of new life overcoming death once again. Critical moments in life are often so sudden--like Jesus' resurrection--that we might miss their significance. I need all the time I can get to let it wash over me, to soak in it, to let it sink in. It's spring!Thank you, Lord, for the gift of new life once again this year.
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