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.
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.
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
What about you? How do you hear and feel God reaching out to you?
With lots of love,
Sara Jane Kehler