WHEN WE WANT TO JUMP INTO SPRING

There is a reason Winter follows Fall.

We sit with the grief of lost things, like so many piles of leaves on the ground, and Winter’s chill hurries us inside to huddle up and wait. 

We see the earth blanketed with its own waiting, its own unapologetic resting.

Let the lost things have their moment, it seems to say. Let the twigs sway in the breeze for awhile, brazen in their barrenness.

But not for us. The New Year comes, and we want to jump into Spring–into fruitfulness, growth, and color. We hurry along into the New without ever pausing with the Old. We plant seeds in the dried leaves and wonder why they aren’t growing.

We get restless, impatient, and irritable.

But why not take nature’s cue? Why not accept Winter’s Sabbath call to huddle up awhile, to allow the spent ground to rest and be nourished by the loss of autumn?

What if grief was not an interruption or some cruel stagnation of the spirit? What if it is an invitation to honor hallowed ground before ploughing again? To sit awhile with What Has Been before rushing head-long into What Could Be? 

What if we sat awhile with the things we’ve had to let go of, the autumn leaves we loved, the once-full branches we extended? What if we acknowledge the barren places and allow our souls the winter-rest they so desperately need? 

Sometimes rest is our most important work. What if we had the courage to slow our pace and hang our hope on the truth that, even in the barren places, growth is teeming beneath the surface.