“Were not our hearts burning within us as He spoke to us on the road…?” Luke24:32
The first day of February gives me a sense of hope: spring is coming.
During this week in Seattle each year, the returning sun warms the city and many of the trees bloom a gentle pink. It is a promise ring of spring in the long months of rainy gray days.
While there is more sun here in Boston, the bitter cold reminds me that spring is a long way off. There are no tentative buds, not for another three months. Yet still I hope for a warmed heart and blooms.
This morning I read from Eugene Peterson’s Living the Resurrection. Not unlike the first of February or the pink-blossomed trees, his words give me hope of an already-happened-yet-still-coming Spring, marked by an empty tomb and awe and tears and joy.
Easter seems a long way off. It’s not even Ash Wednesday, and there’s a lot of living between now and then: Lent and Palm Sunday, and a Friday-that-somehow-God-made-good.
Between now and then, I will also enter my fourth decade. I find myself deeply desiring some pink blooms of grace and hope to face that day.
Yet, Easter has happened. For Narnia readers, “Aslan Lives!” And nothing gives me such a thrill of joy.
And so, this week, I want to look for signs of spring, little buds of hope, hints of resurrection. I am going to put flowers in my home and office, and spend some time on a photo quest hunting for signs of resurrection beauty to share with you this coming Saturday. I will look for God’s life-giving grace in the stories of people I speak with, those students attending the Reading Retreat this coming weekend, and the texts on prayer for my dissertation.
I would love to hear your stories of finding spring and resurrection this week.