This has been a gloomy day, gray and cold, the tail end of a long, snowy, icy winter. March in Indiana can be pretty ugly – once the snow melts, the brown grass dominates the landscape, and the city streets are full of dirt and potholes. Temperatures have been well below average for months now; the next week promises the same. We’re ready for some good rain to wash things clean again, and some green shoots to cover the dead grass. Tomorrow is the first day of spring, by the calendar and the sun, but the signs of spring we normally see in early March have been late to appear. A few snowdrops are out, but the maple buds that should be opening a brilliant red are still tightly closed. Either my crocuses are late, or they’ve been killed off by the winter’s sub-zero temperatures.
Waiting. Just waiting. Waiting for days when it will be warm enough to go outside without coat and gloves. Waiting for the distilled sunlight of the forsythia to burst out into the world. Waiting for the new energy that comes with the burgeoning green. Is that what this life is? Waiting for whatever it is that we’ll experience someday? Are we living in a world that is gray and brown, dreaming of daffodils and sunlight in a perfect life to come?
Better to live in the place and time we have in this moment. Better to listen for the birds who are singing all around, confident that the tardy spring will come. Better to enjoy the snowdrops and examine the buds that are beginning to swell on the stems of the forsythia. Better to sweep the sidewalk and feel the changes in the air as it moves toward warm. This day has its own texture, its own scent, and it is to be enjoyed for what it is. I choose this day to live in God’s grace and cherish what I have.