The snow that fell overnight is disappearing quickly in the spring sunshine. Great icy gray and black mounds, leftovers from the past umpteen storms, gradually vanish, leaving messy debris in their place. We’re emerging from the coldest winter in Chicago history (i.e., the most days with sub-zero temperatures on record), as well as the 2nd or 3rd greatest snowfall on record for this area. Like the climate, the spiritual and emotional toll of this past year has broken personal records. I feel like a bear emerging from her den after a long winter, groggy and blinking back the brightness. I long to re-engage “life as normal” but my brain is still in slow motion. A chill still hangs in the air, and I don’t quite dare believe that this endless winter is over.
Spring does not come by straining, and joy is not restored by trying harder. Nothing I do can guarantee that this was the last snow of the season or that the bulbs hidden underground will bloom again. I must simply wait and receive what is given. The Lord of the Seasons promises spring will come eventually. For now, more tiny snowflakes drift earthward, and I wait. Even here—in this prolonged winter—he is with me.