First Signs of Spring

Beloved,

The snow was late, and it left early. But the siege of winter began in November and was every bit as crushing and exhausting as any polar season.

You know the kind—deep snow, ice on everything, pipes wrapped against freezing, wearing hats and socks to bed to retain body heat, drinking cheering hot beverages to ward off the feeling of isolation, and dreading putting a foot down on the cold floor.

Four months of introversion mixed with awe over the recent events in our world. 16+ weeks to marinate in the Coriolis winds of change and to stew over the coming cataclysmic or serendipitous shift in “timelines,” wondering how it will all turn out.

Then, today, I see signs of Spring, and I realize that I still want to go out and check the garden beds for new life. I recognize that it’s not helpful or necessary for me to remain in bed until my internal task master goads me out with threats. It’s alright to think about taking walks again, even if it is still cold.

My thinking shifts to a more positive vein. I think it would be glorious to start some seedlings indoors since the freezing weather is fickle, and an icy interloper would kill off new plants if I did not act wisely.

It’s still not time to burst forth. It’s just time to allow the ice to thaw slowly, for the more frequent sunshine to warm the moss, for garden insects to begin awakening, and for everyone to think about returning to work.

Mixing my gardening and cooking metaphors seems metaphorical for my life. So, I will leave with this thought.

When in the stew, one cannot help but take on the seasoning and the umami of the other ingredients, and the sauce takes on the flavor of all. That is how I, a daughter of Elohim, have felt. I didn’t lose my savor. I’m still salty, but I have left my impression on this stew, and it has left its impression on me. Only my Abba knows how this will turn out, but it’s a process, not an event, and He’s not finished with me.

Shalom shalom,

Pastora Cate