Hello Spring

Hello Spring,

You have been a long time coming. I am glad to see you. You bring hope that warmth and color will once more grace earth's face. It is a brave thing to do, and that is why I like you. You are a heartening gift from a good Giver, and I rejoice in the joy you spring on the world.

There is not one blade of grass, there is no color in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice.
— John Calvin

It is May, and from my bedroom window I have watched you grow stronger and stronger. Other places you come swiftly, but not here. Here, you come slowly. I wonder if that is why I savor your arrival so much. Old Man Winter's dying breaths still blow over the snow-shrouded mountains, reluctant to relinquish power, but he is fading fast. The grass bravely pushes up from its brown grave, the birds raise hopeful voices, the rain makes mirrors of heaven out of the mud, and bravely you come steadily home.

I remember watching you this time last year, from a hospital window. One May day you looked softly in and spread your sunrise glow on our grief, and it seemed the gentleness of our Maker caressed our hearts the morning my infant brother, Isaac Samuel Triumph King, went to be with Him. And I cannot help but think with eager anticipation of the day you come to stay, and spread your glow over the Triumphal procession when all the King's subjects will dance with joy in His unfading glory, Home to stay.

Yes, you remind me of something deeper than what you seem. I think every brilliant color and keen clean scent and lengthening sunbeam is a proof of something more...

When I look across the sun-struck fields, I know in my inmost bones that my joy is not solely in the spring, for spring alone, being always returning, would be always sad. There is somebody or something walking there, to be crowned with flowers: and my pleasure is in some promise yet possible and in the resurrection of the dead.
— G.K. Chesterton, A Miscellany Of Men

Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime.
— Martin Luther

Yes, you are more than a season. You are a Promise. The brown earth cannot hold back the tender green grass forever, because, once upon a time in history, it could not hold back a God-Man for even three days. And every year since that morning, you repeat the Promise.

We, according to His promise, look for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells. — 2 Peter 3:13

I like you. Please stay a while, and show us the beauty that grows from the dirt, our Creator's glory reflected in puddles of sky.

Sincerely,

audrey