Winter was pretty unpleasant this year. And I don’t think I’m the only one that feels that way. The snow has been vicious; winter has stretched on and on and on. David likes winter, loves bundling into his big coat and watching his breath turn to smoke. In contrast, summer’s my favorite. (So in Mississippi, a two season state, there are about ten days all year where we’re both all about the weather.) But it’s not just that this winter hasn’t been my favorite, that I like pools better than snow or sunscreen better than scarves. It’s that lots of days I felt really overwhelmed, stuck in a cold, grey fog. Every morning I would wake up in the dark, trying to layer enough not to freeze. I do the things that need to be done, but this winter, I spent a lot of time feeling buried, under sadness and ice. At night we would fall asleep under the extra blanket, usually with me rolling towards David a few times in the middle of the night, attempting to warm myself up.
But the last couple of weeks have been different. It’s still cold in the mornings. But I think (fingers crossed knock on wood) it’s safe to say that spring is finally, actually, maybe here. A 70 degree afternoon. A morning where I can do laundry on the porch without gritting my teeth the entire time. A walk without a heavy coat. And most recently, sunlight at 6pm oh me oh my. Spring break. Baking bread in the early evening with all the light streaming through the windows. A few weeks ago I was talking with David, confiding in him about some things I felt hopeless about. But then came a break, sunlight, an extra hour in the day. Enough.
I love thinking about how the physical world mirrors the spiritual world in so many ways. I love weekends, a concrete gift from our physical world that remind us that God made us to need rest, that it’s good to recharge, that we weren’t created merely to be efficient. I love communion–actual bread and wine that nourishes us spiritually and bodily. And I love spring, where dead things come alive, a real story of redemption and restoration played out on the sidewalk, in our gardens. A reminder that God can make our cold, dead, tired places full of life and breath.
I believe that God is good and He never fails. And even in the winter, I’ve been kept warm. Through friends and family, Grandma Elva’s quilt at the foot of our bed, a husband’s warm body and kind heart. There have been a thousand things (big and small) that shattered the cold, proving that God truly is faithful in every season. But I’m thankful and hopeful for a new season, for light in the place of darkness, life instead of death, new born from old. Here’s to sunny with a high of 75.
p.s. I loved this post: when we talk about the weather.