It’s been six years since I’ve seen spring. After living in Florida for 5 ½ years, we returned home to Michigan at the end of March – just in time for spring. (And just in time for one last whopping snowfall of five inches!!)
After such a long absence, it’s as if I’m seeing spring for the first time. I’d forgotten how soft and bright the first grass of the season is, how brilliant the daffodils and tulips are as they peek out of the ground, and how stark the contrast is of the still barren trees across a clear blue skyline and rolling green hills. Nature’s palette is dazzling and vibrant.
I’d also forgotten how frustrating and unpredictable this season can be. One day it’s eighty degrees and the world is right as we run around in shorts and t-shirts. The next day it’s cold and rainy and the skies are as gray as winter, and we’re digging out the sweaters we prematurely threw into the depths of the closet. Spring is a season that tests our patience, teasing us with signs of summer and then smashing us with reminders of winter, sometimes within hours of each other. Were it not for the radiant reminders poking their little heads out of the ground, we might lose hope for the predictable comfort of summer.
I find it rather appropriate that we made our 1,200-mile life transition in the spring; the season is befitting to my life right now. It’s a transition period as we see signs of new life, yet wait for many things to come to fruition. One moment I’m delighted in the comfortable familiarity of coming home to family and old friends. The next moment I’m gloomy and teary as I ache for my friends in Florida and the space of our own home. One day I’m confident that we’ve made the right decision, and that our house will indeed sell. The next day I’m certain that our Florida home will never sell and my in-laws will be stuck with the four of us living with them forever. Were it not for the sunny glimpses of hope peeking out now and then – lovely notes from faraway friends, running into old acquaintances at church, re-connecting with old friends, the comfort of having family nearby, and the occasional showing of our home – I might lose hope. It’s sunny yet muddy, beautiful and drab all at the same time. And just as I know the trees will eventually leave their dormant stage and come fully back to life, our new life in Michigan will do the same. It takes time for new relationships to grow, for old ones to re-solidify, to develop a routine with newly distant friends, and for a home to sell.
So we nurture the signs of new life we do see and cling to our glimpses of hope, knowing that spring is not just necessary, but a beautiful, muddy process of reawakening.
Hello spring, It’s nice to see you again.
“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.” ~Anne Bradstreet