without ink

Spring? Like a bird about to hatch from the shell its grown accustomed to, I give a little peep to see what might be the answer. Poking my head out a tiny bit, I am eager to emerge from this season but not quite sure if I am ready should the current conditions change. The warm breeze and clear skies are enticing, but I am not so quick to let my guard down. Oh, who I am kidding…my hopes are up and life is in the air.

What seems like an eternity has been spent in a season in which each day seemed to get colder. Occasionally glancing at a calendar, I was painfully reminded that winter was long from over. But, even though dear ole Jack froze just about everything, from some hot spring within my spirit, I was reminded that the choice of the season was to either brave the blistery conditions and tread the tundra, hoping to find beauty or to stay hidden inside my warm and sheltered abode until the months of discomfort and pain passed.

It’s perplexing- how many times when I feel left with nothing, I find myself later walking away with arms of abundance.  Going a year without desserts only intensified the taste of ice cream of my tongue. A time without fellowship has left me with a deep appreciation for companionship.  Water is never entirely appreciated until one experiences the parched body produced by the desert.  Being selfish people, we are quick to forget that the one who gives and takes away does not do so whimsically but rather carefully, lest we become spoiled and complacent.  And like a bratty child, when our tightly gripped toys are taken away, we scream and cry: Unfair! Unloving! Yet, to guard against the taste of blessings growing stale, the child is isolated so he can rediscover a thirst for his daddy’s embrace.  

The contractions are over as winter births life. The desert turns to oasis, the howling wind to birds singing.  Though I rejoice in the change of season, my focus changes not. The winter will come again.