Spring springs life into cold souls

The door is open and a warm breeze drifts past as I type. I spent the morning in the garden, playing in the dirt. A beautiful garden medley of farmer’s market vegetables await for dinner. For dessert… my stomach growls in happy anticipation… homemade biscuits, homemade ice-cream, the last few organic strawberries from my freezer filling, jam-making weekend.

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It’s spring man, and it’s Effin delightful. I admit, I missed winter. I brooded a bit at 50 degree weather and snowless peaks up at the nearby resort. I grew frustrated repacking my snowboard gear unused. My heart turned a bit cold at the lack of cold this year. But nothing changes the mood like spring.

Take a deep breath. It’s all around you and with it, signs of limitless possibilities.

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A single burst of life after months of waiting for my new olive tree.

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Colors suddenly splashed along the landscape of my run.

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The first signs of arugula poking up through my newly planted garden. Longer days, eating outdoors, barbecues and the cover soon coming off the boat all arriving with the warm afternoon sun.

I think of my life each year a great deal like the seasons. Spring is the work of tilling the soil of possibility and planting new work. I look ahead to fall and the harvest, to see what I’ve grown into and what God has produced in me. I’m those seeds, tiny and small and yet full of potential each year. The harvest … I’m hopeful. I look forward to the harvest of me especially as I move deeper into this great, unexpected journey of recovery. I passed 57 months sober recently. By summer I’ll hit five years. Lord, I am so grateful for your grace.

OK, winter I missed you, but until next year I’m done brooding. Spring has sprung within me, and as the Beatles crooned, “I feel fine.”

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