Each Spring Sacred

When I awoke early one morning a few days ago, with my window opened to the warm breezes swirling in our backyard space, the sound of the birds was bright, cheerful and cacophonous. It was a sweet symphony of spring-song.

Later as I was gazing out the French door of our family room, I was privy to watching robins, cardinals, finches, wrens (even a woodpecker!) —as well as the occasional osprey and hawk overhead, busy with breakfast. Squirrels and chipmunks scampered up trees, jumping from branch to branch, going about whatever daily business occupied their days. Our resident herd of deer made an appearance, shyly tiptoeing out of the woods behind the house, watching for the very-real possibility of coyotes stalking about. There seemed to be such purpose out there, a well-orchestrated dance with each creature inherently understanding their role, keeping to task, inhabiting their space with a seeming holiness that was profound.

My rhododendrons are in full bloom, fat lacy blossoms ranging from a pink so pale as to seem white, to a deep magenta-pink that would be the envy of any haute-couture devotee. I find it interesting that each bush seems to take a turn to be the one in full bloom, as if in a well-executed fashion show, each showing off their own particular grouping of blooms, not hesitant to steal the floral stage, if only but for a day. The shaded area in the front of the house now boasts a thick carpet of lilies of the valley, their heady scent bold and forward, belying their small and dainty flowers.

This very rainy spring has one advantage that trumps the hassles of the shoreline flooding in our area; it has led to a prolific, prodigal blooming of shrub and flower I’ve not witnessed around here in many years. My lilacs are heavy with bloom; the honeysuckle vine thick with buds, a sure promise of a summer-ripe profusion scent and flower; peonies, irises, bee balm, lavender - all lining up for their turn to bloom, to shine, to pour forth blessing; hydrangea bushes so filled with buds, they can’t help but bow down low to the damp earth in homage to the glorious God of Spring.

Spring is a sacred time, especially if one is attentive to the nuances inherent in the full-blown majesty of the vernal display. When I was a busy mom, working full time and involved with all manner of things and life, spring had a tendency to flash by, a quick vision now here - now gone. I’d wake up one morning, and the blooms on the rhodies would already be spent, petals carpeting the ground below; somehow I’d missed the show. I’d try to capture the moments; I really did. But often, life simply didn’t have the space for time, or the time for space.

I’ve come to understand that the grace and blessing of watching a new spring unfold is truly a blessing; a sacred assignment too precious to reject, too beautiful to turn away.

Entering into the experience of a spring morning, or of an evening of peepers and newly cast shadows of trees unfurling their leaves brings the reality of the Divine and creation into sharp focus. Silencing technology for a precious hour or two allows the mind to settle into the contemplative wonder of creation unfolding around us, a clean, renewed reality that settles the mind, calms the heart, expands the soul. Walking away from the modern mess of the world into the planned, wondrous symphony of springtime - even if only for an hour or two - brings the world, and our lives, into sharp focus. It’s a reset, a re-charge, a renewal that runs deep, rings true, sings long and melodious long after we’ve returned to the madness of our every-day lives.

The sanctity and grace of a glorious spring day far surpasses what man has attempted to create in cathedral domes or stained glass windows, for in each spring’s unfolding, God reveals His nature in each flower blossom, each newborn fawn, each new robin hatched. If we want to see God, we simply need to watch the glories of the green trees unfold. If we want to hear God, there is no melody sweeter than dawn’s song of the cardinal to his mate — or the the chorus of hundreds of peepers at dusk. Spring shouts the Divine message of love in the unfolding of new life, of a new chance to renew and refresh.

Each spring is sacred. Each spring brings a renewed hope for life and grace. Each spring promises another chance to make it right, to enter into God’s own nature and be witness to His creation. Each spring unfolds the gritty, raw truth that life is good, that life and creation are resilient, and that His creation will triumph - no matter how unwisely we’ve managed the planet —or our lives.

Spring is sacred and good. Enjoy the Divine show, embrace the promise for new life, and hold onto the hope of a Divine Presence that cares enough to renew the world, one flower and one leaf at a time.

Spring. It’s worth the time. Go and enjoy it.