A couple days into spring, as well a shelter in place order, brought a typical midwest spring snow storm, and although I wanted to mope, I ventured out to my nearby forest preserve, where there is a tree that takes my breath away every time I see it, and especially when I hike up the hill to be closer to it.
Each year, I forget one of the lovely aspects of a spring snow storm: the unique juxtapositions of winter and spring together. Robins perched in snowy trees, daffodil buds covered in snow, green grass prickling through snow - such spring joys woven into the winter wonder. Although I see the beauty and gift of winter, it’s definitely a harder season for me, with the lack of sunshine and the dark apathy that comes with it. So when glimmers of spring begin popping up, my heart too begins to come into the hopeful sunshine. This spring snow walk though, reminded me of the gift of the in-between, the liminal space between what was and what will be. The winter reminders amidst the spring season teach me to cling to hope, remind me that Light always scatters the darkness, even when darkness feels everlasting. So often, we must carry contradictory feelings and experiences - hope and doubt, joy and sorrow, beauty and pain, celebration and mourning. I sometimes wish these could all come perfectly boxed up, one at at time, but then I remember how amidst the darkness, I need the reminders of hope to get me through. My experience in the darkness fans into flame my yearning for the Light, for all the wrongs to be made right.
So, even though I don’t prefer winter and am absolutely ready for full on Spring (which usually in Illinois is two days long before it’s 95 degrees and 1000% humid), I am deeply thankful for the longing that winter teaches me, the longing for Light, for hope. And I am delightfully surprised by the unique gift of winter and spring together, holding the space for us to cling to hope.
