Winter, Spring, Death, Life

It’s been a long year so far. And a very long, slow start to spring. It felt as though the death of winter and life of spring were in an excruciatingly drawn out battle and I found myself wondering if life would ever win. It was as though with every tree blooming, an April snowflake fell.

For every good, healthy day together as a family, we had a stomach bug, a loss, an argument. Or at least that’s how it seemed. As spring and winter waged their life vs. death war outside my window, I waged my own similar war inside. For months, evidence pointed to death (sickness, depression, struggle) having the upper hand.

I am beginning to come to the other side of this. As I write these words, the sun shines strong and warm weather is forecast. Our family is healthy, new circumstances are on the horizon, and we are cautiously hopeful for a future with new life.

But man, those days when death has the upper hand are real. They tire the soul and wear your resolve. They render the words of hope a foreign language.

I could wax poetic about how the death days make life sweeter, but the truth is I’m not there yet. The struggle is too fresh, the weariness and wounds of battle still lingering. What I feel is more of an exasperated relief. We are here, finally. We have a moment for our souls to catch up with our bodies. We gulp the healing waters of life. As the trees continue blooming, so do we. Fall and winter will come again. But for now, we turn our faces to the sun. And for now, it is enough.