A seasonal reset

embracing spring, embracing hope

A glimpse into my life…

In the orchard, the apple trees are barer than before, bereft of their branches. The gardener’s extreme pruning has divested them of last autumn’s fruitfulness and majestic growth.

Each gap is a sacred space to allow more light to filter through their sculptural frames as they receive the sun’s warm rays, its benediction gaze. Like our lives when we carve out corners for grace to enter in.

I think of the lopped off branches being similar to the rotten wood I’ve accrued in my life, the unfruitful excess, the burdens in my soul, an accumulation I can do without. 

As I succumb to the cutting back, the seemingly harsh pruning process God initiates, it feels painful. Yet so necessary if any enlivened, sap-filled timber is encouraged to grow instead. 

Pondering, I move on, and rows of buttery-yellow daffodils draw my attention. They lift their heads as if they’re sunbathers who cannot get enough of the smiling rays. 

Their liveliness, and the absence of a brisk wind, keeps them upright, sentinel-still, with a slight wavering now and then as I peer at them.

I’m trundling past on my mobility scooter, more tortoise than hare as I pause here and there to observe the emergence of spring.

I’ve left my coat and my winter hermit self at home because now I’m (finally!) outside in the fresh air. On a mission of sorts to visit a friend in the sheltered housing complex where we live.

It’s been a winter of discontent: draining, full of depletion, weariness and weakness as I’ve been trying to fight off a viral illness for several months with little success.

But now it is spring. A new season where (hopefully) better health will return to me. The air smells fresher. It speaks of change and sap rising. Alteration is welcome. 

We await the emergence of the trembling tulips, the slow opening of buds bursting forth in bushels of blossom, birds rejoicing as only they can from dawn to dusk, the earth spinning into renewal and revival of greening again. 

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Perhaps you and I could use a seasonal reset? For our senses, spiritual and otherwise, to spark into newness of life like the flowers and plants. 

Because sitting stagnant in wintry mode stifles the life out of us. It leads to separation, isolation, and continued hibernation. A hermitage of the heart behind prison bars of our own making.

Left to my own devices, I unwittingly settle for being stuck if I favour the familiar over the unknown and fail to notice how rigid I’ve become. 

Routine and comfort can become idols I cling to, instead of inviting awareness and change to enter in and have their way with me.

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As I turn in the direction of home, I think what an effort it can be to break free from winter hibernation. Push through the darkness of resistant soil to wakeful illumination.

Sometimes it feels safer to keep to the confines which encircle my days. The constraints which chronic illness and pain impose on a weary body. 

My introverted self comes strongly to the forefront during winter. She needs books and articles to read, coffee and dark chocolate and comforting food to eat.

She seeks stillness and silence, space to write, the gift of peace, please, because time alone is a precious thing.

Although I don’t actually live alone. I have a beloved husband who needs my love, time and attention more and more. He has Parkinson’s and I’m his in-house carer/nurse/support person, mostly in an emotional sense. 

So I feel the friction between duty and desire. The tug and pull between mind, body and spirit. The way the ego interrupts with its numerous demands and the soul seeks to silence it with scriptural common sense.

As I pootle past our patio, I spy the ducks having an outing and spot an eagerness of crocuses wearing their outer lilac covering before revealing the deeper purple layers within. 

Vivid purple and gold winter flowering pansies are valiantly holding their own. Gold symbolises purity, immortality and eternity. A lovely thought.

Purple is the colour of royalty, penance, and Christ’s suffering during Lent. The season where we try to fathom the fathomless mystery of our Saviour’s sacrificial death and rising to newness of life again. 

My outing was fruitful but short. I park the scooter next to our bungalow and sit for a bit to savour these brief moments of freedom.

Something like a trapped bird has been crying out for release and it’s loosening as heaviness recedes. I breathe deeply.

I think I’m ready to embrace hope to begin again because that’s what drives us forward when we feel stuck and stalled by life. A beginner's brain is open and receptive to change.

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When commitments act like chains that tie us down, we need something to unlock our hearts. As they feel the warm breath of spring doing its thawing work, a shift occurs. 

Something has to change to make us more receptive towards God. To sense His footsteps within and yield ourselves to Him. 

Here’s to taking the first step towards a seasonal reset as I cross the threshold, my eyes warming at the sight of abundant budding on the camellia, and one brave flower already revealing its joyous pinkness. 

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