Growing up in the Midwest, there was something magical almost holy about the the first nice day of spring. The temperature might not even get above 50, but the sun would come out, crocuses would peek their tiny heads above ground and the entire state would go outside. Barefoot, tank tops, radios, picnics, frisbees and BBQ. On that magic day we would pretend it was the middle of summer. Grateful for the break in the cold and hopeful for warm days ahead.
We all knew in our heart that winter wasn't over. That late February or early March would be simply unfathomablely early to banish snow for good. But we all pretended that perfect weather day would never end.
Living the past 10 years in California, I don't get the magic of that first spring day in quite the same way. But this year, it has stayed chilly and gloomy a bit more than average. Today was a real break in the weather that reminded my heart of the joy it used to feel at the onset of spring.
I think we all need signs of hope. We may all have rough days ahead of us but the promise of spring... new life... water, respite, renewal can go a long way in keeping our resolve to stay strong and preserve. Hope is essential to the human condition and the defining characteristic of lent.
The season that begins "dust to dust and ashes to ashes" ends with any empty tomb. How we get there is a mystery but hope, tangible like the first day of spring, goes forth beckoning us to follow trails unmarked to beauty not yet imagined.
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