The calendar says it's spring. But it doesn't feel like it.
The sky holds dreary March gray.
The boys and I walk Sissy during lunch. Their cheeks stain red, and they're wearing mittens and hats and heavy winter coats. We walk Sis down the lane, and it's okay. We feel sheltered by the trees that block out the sharp wind. But when we turn and head for home, the icy cold hits hard. There's a sting. A bite.
We bundle tighter and press on.
I saw on Facebook, yesterday, that a friend had posted pictures from her yard. They were taken one year ago to the day. There was a tree branch. It wasn't bare and brown and asleep like the branches are today. There was green. The branches held buds.
Buds of promise of good things to come.
So I've decided that sometimes parenting is like waiting for spring. Winter has lasted too long. We're ready to shed the heavy layers. We're ready to feel the sun on our shoulders. We're longing to see those buds holding new life and fresh things.
And in time, with our children, those things will come.
I have to believe.
So for now we keep moving forward. We tug winter clothing on. We pull the zippers high. We walk and wait.
And we'll keep looking ahead.
Reaching for those desired things we believe, we know, will come.
"Because he loves me," says the Lord, "I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him." Psalm 91:15