There is an expectant energy that happens this time of year. Spring, as we like to say, is in full bloom. Each morning, I wake to birdsong and the sun breaking on the horizon. Spider webs glisten with dew and the air smells like wet earth and lilacs. There are dandelions everywhere.
People walk with a lighter step in springtime. Their smiles are brighter, their laughter is louder. During the harsh Michigan winters, I forget how much I miss the sun until spring returns it to me. It was never really gone, of course. The sun was always there, but it seemed more distant, less accessible. And in return, the world felt heavier. My worries were greater, my doubts bigger.
Then, just as it seems the world will always be draped in shadows, that first bird takes a tentative chirp, a bud pokes through the still-frozen ground, and in the blink of an eye, the world is bathed in light and sound and joy.
I think Robert Browning said it best in his poem from 1841:
The year's at the spring, And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; God's in his Heaven— All's right with the world!
My hope for you, dear reader, is that you will feel God’s presence shining down like the spring-day sun, and all will be right in your world once more.
This is a companion discussion topic for the original entry at http://spectrummagazine.org/node/6804