Lent Day 30: A Hint of Spring

Today wasn't the first warm day of the season; we had several such days last week but the cruel joke that is St. Louis weather gave us rainy cold weather for the first official days of spring.

But today it felt like spring in the meteorological and emotional sense:  the fragrance of budding plants and the increasing critter noise near the creek on my walk to the train station both reflect my warming demeanor.  And the fact that my workday wasn't completely wall-to-wall meetings and I could even walk to an off-site restaurant for lunch didn't hurt either.

Today I got to smell the proverbial roses:  I was blessed to meet a new friend (or more accurately get to know the only person I've ever 'friended' on Facebook without having met in person first), during the off-site lunch.  On the way home I was honored to meet to the newest member of our a subdivision: a baby girl born a few months ago -- but because of the weather I didn't even know she had even been born.  I even met a new workman -- doing stuff for my neighbor -- who will do some minor repairs on my roof.  And at long overdue haircuts for Noah and me, I had a delightful conversation with our stylist (because they're not really called barbers anymore).

There's nothing profound about any of these events, but I think my appreciation for them is.  For all of Lent, which has been cold and gray, I've felt stifled... even oppressed.  But in all of this writing (and removing the noise from my commutes), I've been keenly grateful for all the joys of life, especially the littlest ones.  I've been thinking of the fine line between death and life, appreciating the "now" and eagerly anticipating new life and the beginning of spring.

I thank God for this day, and for one of my favorite hymns that our church band plays every Lent:  As the Sun with Longer Journey (Evangelical Lutheran Worship, #329), text by John Patrick Earls and music by Carl F. Schalk:

As the sun with longer journey melts the winter's snow and ice,
with its slowly growing radiance warms the seed beneath the earth,
may the sun of Christ's uprising gently bring our hearts to life.

Through the days of waiting, watching, in the desert of our sin,
searching on the far horizon for a sign of cloud or wind,
we await the healing waters of our Savior's victory.

Praise be given to the maker of the seasons' yearly round,
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit -- Source, Sustainer, Lord of life,
as the ever turning ages roll to their eternal rest.