Tag Archives: spring

For My Husband on His Birthday (or, of winter and waiting)

This winter lasts, but our time moves steadily from its first unfolding,
and we find ourselves in the already but not yet
of the journey.  Green plants push through dirt
beneath the frozen snow.  Sunlight shines through windows
covered with a long winter’s filmy grime.  We wait for warmth
and wait for wisdom.  We are in Easter’s Advent, praying, listening.
The cardinals have returned to the barren forsythia, looking, flitting
from branch to twig to ground, searching.

Perhaps we are a nesting pair, arriving, looking, searching,
putting all energy into choosing, collecting, building, and then,
hoping.  What will this next spring surprise us with?  A lush garden,
a field of wildflowers?  A new truth?

For now silence may fall with the snow
while we remain steadfast and full of hope.

A New Year Mantra for Lent

Three months removed from the start of the year, and embarking on the first week of Lent, it seems fitting to revisit our new year mantra (with a twist into first person):

Seek to bring out the good in those around me,
and I will find the best in myself.

How does this look manifested in our real and very daily lives?

Sometimes it is what we don’t do that creates change.  Seeking to bring out the good in others might best come by way of self-restraint.  Practicing silence, aside from many other benefits, can allow those around us to blossom.

These next weeks as we move toward Spring, let’s be patient, dig into the last of Winter, and embrace a kind of dormancy of speech.  May we be delighted by what we find growing all around us come Eastertime.

Winter Strawberries

Backing down the drive we see snow and sleet on the cold stones and grass,
evidence of winter’s long-clutching grasp on Ohio.

We head to church, the grocery, back to church school,
and finally home where we hang coats, store mittens, and wash hands.

We dice red onion and cooked chicken,
slice black olives and grape tomatoes.
We layer the crust with olive oil, basil, mozzarella,
and all of our dicing and slicing while the oven heats.

The tomato bisque is ladled into glass bowls,
and the leafy salad arranged on ceramic plates.
There is talk of croutons and pizza,
strawberries and yogurt, and even melted chocolate.

Our little ones have already eaten a bakery cookie and a fruit-laden cereal bar,
but they come to the table anyway and tell us how they would design their menus and present their dishes.

The littlest one asks to read “The Little Red Caboose” before nap time,
and as I near the end, he presses his cheek to mine, his strawberry breath forcing my mind toward spring.