Is it summer, yet?

Calendar-wise, it’s not summer until June 21st: weather-wise, though, summer has arrived!

Today, despite the fact that it’s sunny and 33 degrees Celsius, I’m still thinking about spring.

I love spring.

What do I love about spring? First, let me tell you what I don’t love:

• how dirt and melted snow have sex, make a mud baby, and then allow it to crawl all over my kids’ winter gear. Springtime laundry duty stinks;
• how, after a long and lethargic winter, my kids are suddenly filled with a bizarre amount of energy that they don’t know what to do with. This is when I pray for a quick thaw; and
• how sunny spring days tease me with warmth, then crush my patio dreams with a late-April snow flurry. After all these years, it’s beginning to feel personal.

Spring Metaphor

What I do love (and I think this makes up for the aforementioned irritations) is the poetic nature of spring. Spring is the very picture of:

• resurrection and renewal
• a fresh start
• new life and a beautiful future, etc.

In spring, what looks dead often bursts to life once again; the landscapes of gardens, fields, and lawns are fresh canvases, ready for a creative touch; and creatures, great and small, make love all over God’s soon-to-be-green earth, bringing forth new life.

A Thank-You Poem

And that’s why, just last month, when temperatures were finally warm enough for me to snuggle inside a fuzzy blanket on our back patio, I was inspired to write… um… poetry.

I don’t write poetry, yet out came a poem. Is it any good? Not sure. I don’t really read poetry, either. I’m not sure it matters, though, since my poem is simply my thank you to God for reaching out to me in one of a million different ways this spring.

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Open Air

The tender breeze is a mother’s touch:

her fingers are tucking tendrils behind my ear.

The radiance of daybreak is a father’s embrace:

his strength, his warmth, his dependability –

are wrapping around my shoulders.

A swollen Robin twitters;

she flutters by,

hope and freedom in flight.

Above, a cloudless canopy comforts.

It paints a picture of grace and perfection, united.

I burrow deeper into this synthetic couch, these sewn cushions, this woven throw;

they draw me closer to:

wind, the Gentleness of God;

sun, the Power of God;

rebirth, the Gift of God;

order, the Love of God.

I lay down my pen.

Thank God for my springtime patio.

Open Air, by Sara Jane Kehler

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What about you? How do you hear and feel God reaching out to you? 

With lots of love,

Sara Jane Kehler