You awaken to clear orange-pink dawn, a fire-ball of warmth, with a stirring in your heart.
A wind of exhilaration at your feet.
You notice the bare-branched oaks unfurling new life, redeeming winter of its introspections; reshaping the cold uncertainty of life.
You emerge from your personal winter, no longer cocooned or contemplating the hidden whispers in your heart, desires in desperate wait.
Stubborn winds shift, overcome by still mornings and new buds.
Emboldened by the fire-sun, you sit on the porch, sweater-wrapped still, holding café con leche.
Your heart begins to melt as the sun warms your face.
A soul-collapse occurs within giving way to new life, it is then that you decide to wave goodbye to winter strife and furtive pride.
You recycle love.
Small steps at first.
You begin by walking up to the ornery octogenarian, the one who side-glanced you all winter.
“These are for you, Mrs. Clark.” She offers you her cloudy eyes and gazes yours.
A salt-water-eyed reaction to your fresh-picked flowers. “Oh, dear. Why…thank-you.”
Redemption in your Midst.
You turn and wave, brighter in your newfound joy. You take in the warm breeze and hear a backyard cardinal chirp—bolder you become.
You offer silent prayers to Lord above while scrubbing and rinsing at the kitchen sink, hidden yearnings which plea for answers.
You lean into your thawing heart, confronting the ice-slivered words which slipped into your midnight hour: Maybe it’s too late…maybe we should divorce.
But the warmth of the breeze won’t relent, it extinguishes dormant winter.
You remind the enemy of your soul that he won’t have your marriage.
You stand in front of the television, heart pounding in your chest and ask your spouse, “Can we talk about this?”
Seconds seem like hours.
He looks up at you, stands, and walks towards the back porch, holds the storm-door open.
You both collapse into an overdue heart-of-hearts—holy magic occurring as he cups and warms your hands.
Your tiny legacies watch from inside, in utter delight, trying hard to not shout, “Daddy and Mommy are talking again!”
Woman, you just cracked open the earth—a green shoot of love now braves mid-April wind.
Terra firma shrouded in verdant wonder.
Women, together we can venture forth. We can walk into new.
Together we can revisit the memory, simmering back-burner hope.
Thawed earth wafting to new life. We need it like we need every single breath.
Our bare-branched souls clung tightly to the withered vine, knowing deep life remained.
The blooms a-coming.
Our souls are shrieks of joy in the warm days of spring.
Renewals—life-filled glories which lead to stunning awakenings.
We can heal our marriages. We can offer previously bruised hearts the salve of peace.
Our warmer earth waits on this.
Resurrections—our boxed-up desires coming to fruition. Spring is a soul satisfied.
The ice is gone; the earth absorbed its slosh.
And desperate hope remains.
“For behold the winter is past; the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come.” (Song of Solomon 2:11, NIV)