A Season Between Seasons

The snow has that mostly-melted and dirty look of Spring. Winter, though stark and barren, is clean and crisp. Interestingly, the process of moving from Winter’s rest and barrenness to Spring’s awakening and new growth is messy, grimy, muddy.. This particular change of seasons appears unkempt – more so than the other season transitions.


Is there a life lesson here?



Is the time of awakening, the time of moving into a season that is characterized by seeds being planted and sprouting, by the renewal of life, by the sometimes sweet sometimes pungent smell of Spring air, is this particular season shift more gritty and grimy?


The only way to get from Winter to Spring is through mud. I would like to detour around the dirt and go straight to the green grass and cleaned up flower beds ablaze with blooms.


There is something in needing to wear rubber boots during this transition that signifies both the earthiness and the grandeur of this one season change. It’s Winter giving birth to Spring. Birthing is messy. Being quick to sanitize the messiness may in fact be short changing of the process.


As the sun warms the earth to encourage the snow to melt and the Spring flower to bravely raise her cheery head, so too the Creator Artist lets me bask in gentle, warming light – encouraging the icy spots of my soul to melt – to give way to the pansy.


Help me to be patient with my soul mud and to wear rubber boots with grace.


Published by Judy

On the edge of Waterloo county resting sedately on knoll, is an old stone house looking out towards the Grand River. This stone house and farm has been in my husband's family for years. We have been graced to call this place home for the last thirty years. Our best crop has been our four children. After years of immersing myself in raising and educating our family, the proverbial nest has slowing been emptying, opening up space for me to fill with other pursuits. Both writing and photography have been knit into my everyday living since I was very young. Sharing them is both a bit of a dream and a bit of a nightmare. But living small and in fear shrivels up a life. My thoughts are musings on God, aging, family, and simply living. My shelves are lined with books, my baskets are brimming with skeins of yarn, my closet shelves are stacked with apparel, my cellar shelves are chock full of home canning - all testaments to my inclinations. Our journeys are not solitary affairs. As I share bits of my journey with you, I hope you will be enticed to look more closely, listen more attentively, and live with abandon. May God's peace rest on your journey. Judy

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