In two days, the calendar tells me that Spring will be here.
At long last, the winter will be over. Spring! Sprang! Sprung!
I don't hold great hope that the weather will suddenly transform into sunshine and warm breezes. Even an August in the Pacific Northwest doesn't promise that. Yet, the arrival of spring brings a sense of having survived. A sense that we have in fact endured the long winter not for nothing. Spring brings with it a great bloom of hope.
For indeed I've always thought spring was the most optimistic of seasons. No matter how cold the winter was, no matter how many inches of rain, how many consecutive days we went without seeing the sun (oh so many!), we need not despair.
Eventually we can come crawling out of our caves and discover that God has not forgotten us.
This year, more than ever, I needed the optimism of spring. Only a few days ago, I felt the worry about Jason's future job clutching at my heart. What will we do, I wondered. How will we survive?
And I glanced again at the daffodils by our house, at the cherry trees blossoming in the orchard, at the creek waters slowly receding. I don't know how we'll survive, but I know that we will.
I know that we will because--without fail--every winter ends with spring. ♥