Sweet Springtime

In honor of the first day of spring, I bought a watermelon today. Watermelons aren’t known for being at their peak of ripeness on Good Friday, and this one was pretty disappointing as far as taste goes. But it was the symbolism—the changing of seasons and the long-awaited arrival of my favorite part of the year—that I celebrated with my pale, tasteless melon.

My mom told me yesterday that my uncle—who is also her pastor—has been teaching about the spiritual aspect of the new spring season. As we get more and more hours of light shining on our part of the earth, more and more issues come to light. I don’t know if this is true for anyone else, but it’s sure been my story lately.

I referred to last winter—loudly and repeatedly—as the winter of my discontent: pregnant all winter; annoying, useless contractions every half-hour for four months; relentless fear that the baby would die like the one before her; endless snow; icy roads. And then at last came the respite of spring.

This has been the winter of my deconstruction. I feel like God has pretty much leveled my identity, first with the loss of my work (and all that went with it) and more recently the realization that I wasn’t the wife and mom I thought I was while I was working.

Deconstruction sucks. But it has to happen for new construction to occur. To become the person God wants me to be—the one He created me to be—He has to chisel away the rotting boards and moldy walls I’ve allowed to become part of my foundation. This isn’t exactly a fun process, but it’s a healthy one. And I love how it coincides with spring, a time when new life pops up all around me (three of my babies were born in the spring), when I feel a surge of hope that summer is near, and when I celebrate the resurrection of my Savior.

The watermelon may be nasty, but I love spring anyway.