A Springtime Collision
the invitation of a transition season
It’s officially springtime.
There is a choir of birds chirping through my slightly cracked window and a surplus of people walking, biking, and running outside — all coming out of winter hibernation.
I’m wearing my bulky winter jacket less and reaching for the seat warmers in my car the same.
The weather varies between sunshine, snow, and wind that sends a zing through your whole body. I find myself wearing shorts and sandals while the person across the way has on a hat and mittens.
There are more hours of daylight, bare trees thinking about bearing new leaves, and animals scurrying about as my dog is hyper focused on their presence.
These are the signs of spring.
The physical indicators that a new season is making its way here.
A friend of mine recently shared the signs of spring she is seeing in her life, but they had nothing to do with her wardrobe or the weather outside. Instead she pointed to evidence that healing is happening in her life and the indicators that a difficult chapter is coming to a close.
She pointed to the emotional signs of spring.
As she shared, I paused to consider what this kind of springtime feels like to me.
It’s the unprompted energy to try something new after months of feeling stuck.
It’s when I notice a soft smile during a situation where tears used to roll down my cheeks.
It’s taking deep breaths instead of the overwhelm consuming me.
The indicators of an emotional springtime are the encouragement we need to remember that what we experience in difficult seasons doesn’t have the final say.
There is a walking trail near my apartment that my dog, Tabor, and I are frequent visitors. On a warm early-March afternoon, I logged off my work-from-home job, threw on my walking shoes, and hit the trail to clear my head from a long day.
I soon found myself halted in the middle of the familiar path.
I moved into this apartment building in August so my months prior on this trail were accompanied by leash training a puppy, the color-changing foliage lining the curving path, patches of ice and snow to maneuver, and multiple layers to keep me warm.
On this particular outing, I halted when I realized the paved path ahead was so much wider than I had remembered.
There weren’t leaves piling on the outskirts of the path. No snow-packed trail to treat as an obstacle course. My puffy coat and mittens weren’t needed as an added barrier between me and the elements.
For the first time in a long time it was just me, my dog, and the wide paved path.
It was in this moment that my physical and emotional signs of spring collided.
The snowy months on this paved path were quiet and narrow. With fewer visitors to greet and pass, the muted crunch of snow underneath my clunky boots was the soundtrack for my walks. It was unclear where the sides of the path ended or what kind of terrain bordered it, leaving a narrow trail to follow.
The snowy months outside were accompanied by an emotional winter within me.
I was (am) trying to create new rhythms and community since moving back to Minnesota.
I’ve discovered I’m more introverted than I previously was operating, teaching me new ways to define loneliness vs. being alone.
My weekends were spent recovering from a demanding week, not delighting in the gift of rest.
Noticing the wider path ahead brought relief that a new soundtrack and more possibilities are on the horizon. I felt a deep pull toward dreaming a little bit bigger and looking for new options to consider in the areas I felt stuck.
Spring is a breath of fresh air.
It’s a time where we remember that there are more options, more space to take up, and more ways to view the path ahead.
It’s a season where new plants start to bloom and new dreams begin to unfold.
Over the past few weeks Isaiah 43: 16-21 has floated across my radar - through a forwarded email devotion, scripture during church, and perusing here on Substack. This passage reads:
“Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters, who brings out chariot and horse, army and warrior; they lie down, they cannot rise, they are extinguished, quenched like a wick: Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. The wild animals will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches; for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people, the people whom I formed for myself so that they might declare my praise.”
At the core of my collision of springtimes is the anticipation of the new things only God can do.
We can recall the miracles and gifts he’s given to us before, but we are to anticipate the new gifts he has in store - the new miracles for our current day obstacles, the new ways he wants to surprise ways, the new opportunities that weave together a bigger story of our lives.
An invitation of springtime is to anticipate what God can do as we transition out of a snow-filled wilderness or lonely desert.
The keyword for springtime is transition.
I began writing about this collision when there were sunny skies and a thick cool breeze.
I revisited my writing on a morning where out my window the sun rose to a fresh blanket of snow on the ground - the day after I went for a walk with just a sweatshirt, might I add!
Now, I’m finalizing the piece when the snow has melted, skies are clear, and it’s set to reach nearly 70 degrees this afternoon.
Spring does not suddenly arrive and remain consistently the same. I believe it’s a season that gives us hope for transitioning well out of difficult situations or making new choices.
When I experienced that collision of physical and emotional springtime in early-March, it did not mean everything was sunshine and rainbows going forward.
My eagerness to dream a little bit bigger was not immediately met with a surplus of energy. The paved path by my apartment did not remain untouched by the elements.
There were big decisions I needed to discern through and a springtime snowfall that covered the trail that was once clear as day.
But in the ups and downs of a transition season, the signs of spring are the encouragement we need to anticipate the new things only God can do. We have glimpses of what life after can look like and get to cling to that hope as we transition into whatever is next.
Reflection Questions:
What are the physical and emotional signs of spring that I see in my life?
Where do I want to see God do a new thing?
How can I hope for a new thing while the ups and downs of spring persist?