Easter
And just like that, it is spring!
The forsythia blooms yellow. The redbuds have opened up, along with the spring-green bushes against the dark, evergreen background. Flowers have come, bringing forth color, new life, hope.
As we were told yesterday, it is so nice to live in a part of the country where Easter--new life--is apparent in creation.
And as I was told by a professor in college, we are able to extend our view of the miraculous to include the ordinary. Someone being miraculously healed of cancer is no less worthy of our wonder than the miracle of daffodils pushing their way through the frozen ground. Both are miracles. Both incite hope. Both are the products of a good God, both speak to our longing. Even though the latter event is commonplace and easily overlooked as simply mundane.
It's my favorite season. And this year, it has been a struggle, because while I would like to be outside, my hands in the dirt, Zimrie's severe allergies have kept us indoors most days. But that is okay, too. What kind of happiness would it be if I finally trimmed back my ivy but had a swollen-faced little boy who can't sleep for coughing?
So we have done lots of bathtub paints and built lots of Lego towers and gone to the indoor playplace at Chick-fil-a more than once. And thankfully Asher can play outside at school. This spring is not what I wanted it to be. No working in the flower beds and no picnics at the park. And while it seems commonplace and mundane, spending my days indoors, trying to think of activities that will wear out two little boys, trying to bear my frustration out a little longer, a little thinner, I'm trying to remember that this life is no less miraculous. I'm trying to be fully present. I'm trying to listen to my children more. I'm trying to see this, too, as an opportunity for watching new life.
The forsythia blooms yellow. The redbuds have opened up, along with the spring-green bushes against the dark, evergreen background. Flowers have come, bringing forth color, new life, hope.
As we were told yesterday, it is so nice to live in a part of the country where Easter--new life--is apparent in creation.
And as I was told by a professor in college, we are able to extend our view of the miraculous to include the ordinary. Someone being miraculously healed of cancer is no less worthy of our wonder than the miracle of daffodils pushing their way through the frozen ground. Both are miracles. Both incite hope. Both are the products of a good God, both speak to our longing. Even though the latter event is commonplace and easily overlooked as simply mundane.
It's my favorite season. And this year, it has been a struggle, because while I would like to be outside, my hands in the dirt, Zimrie's severe allergies have kept us indoors most days. But that is okay, too. What kind of happiness would it be if I finally trimmed back my ivy but had a swollen-faced little boy who can't sleep for coughing?
So we have done lots of bathtub paints and built lots of Lego towers and gone to the indoor playplace at Chick-fil-a more than once. And thankfully Asher can play outside at school. This spring is not what I wanted it to be. No working in the flower beds and no picnics at the park. And while it seems commonplace and mundane, spending my days indoors, trying to think of activities that will wear out two little boys, trying to bear my frustration out a little longer, a little thinner, I'm trying to remember that this life is no less miraculous. I'm trying to be fully present. I'm trying to listen to my children more. I'm trying to see this, too, as an opportunity for watching new life.
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