The Song of Spring

It is not a novel thought, not a unique observation. There have likely been hundreds, probably thousands of posts about it already. So here I am, simply joining the chorus. I sing the song of Spring.

Growing up if someone’s answer to their favorite season was Spring, I thought something was wrong with them… “SPRING??? As in the boring, not notable, nothing special, short-lived spring??” I would sit there looking at that person, totally stumped at how that person could actually allow “Spring” to be uttered as their answer. I found those people perplexing.

And then I grew up.

Fast forward from the perplexed little girl with thick coarse hair to the one who will slip out the front door and sit on the front step to soak in the first gusts of Spring.

That

mixed, thick air

The smell of the earth

The brighter hues of green

That intangible sense of returning life

The unskippable transition season,

The world is coming alive again!

I never see I am still carrying winter in me. I never view myself as hibernating, or intentionally mirroring the dormant and empty spaces that surround me.

But then I feel it in the air.

That indescribable shift

An undeniable turn

The grass slowly, imperceptibly begins changing.

New buds

A new season

Fresh air

Fresh perspectve

New sounds

A new start

And like the gusts of warm wind it rushes all the way through me and gets down to my soul.

Part of me is coming back alive.

I cannot figure out why it continues to surprise me.. This reaction now happens every. single. Year…

The same shift

The same vigor

The same crescendo

The same rush of life running throughout me.

It should no longer surprise me.

But it does.

That is the miracle of Spring.

You could dive deep into all the r

easons that the existence of seasons point to a Creator far beyond our imagination…a magnificent an

d merciful, brilliant beyond compare Creator who designs and builds and orchestrates in unimaginable beauty.

But bottom line, our souls are affected by the seasons. Something in us as humans is inspired by their turns.

Countless poems written,

Song after song crafted,

all inspired by the way our world and something deep inside us changes from season to season.

How purposeful it must be.

And what a grace that is.

The color palette is beginning to fill out.

Spring in all its sunlit blossoms glory has not burst quite yet.

But it is coming.

It is rising up,

Shooting through,

Hope is quickening.

Death to life.

Hallelujah, what a Savior.