MyStoryYourStory: Find answers to troubling questions

By Paula Damon

“God’s glory on tour in the skies, God-craft on exhibit across the horizon. Madame Day holds classes every morning, Professor Night lectures each evening. Their words aren’t heard, their voices aren’t recorded, but their silence fills the earth: unspoken truth is spoken everywhere….” – Psalm 19:1-2, The Message, Eugene Peterson

Wet. Slippery. Sopped soil and sidewalks. Melting piles of snow leave behind crusty dingy-white mounds barely noticeable. Rain drives hard barreling through warming air.

Where ice once stood, puddles form, mirroring the slightest movements, sending concentric circles rotating forever outward.

We are on watch with ears perked, olfactory glands on high alert for first signs of spring. Sounds of robins chirping and fluttering. Mourning doves cooing and calling. Cardinals whistling and singing. All forming a concerto of change, a symphony of promise.

Glory to new life, waiting underneath drenched snowy gridlock. Tree branches, once frosty, now jeweled with heavenly glaze.

Winter melt delivers a provocative supply of zeal for us poor souls whose drudgery it is to check off the days from last bloom to first bud, from virgin snow to late thaw, from final flock to returning procession.

Once barren roots, barely hanging onto a characterless existence, sport new shoots now grafted to our transforming hearts. Cheerily plying along, we hail this season as it calls forth oceans of snow geese and waterfowl of innumerable varieties.

Such signs cheerily remind us that we thoroughly and quite readily elect to speedily abandon sly old winter.

Prying open the door to newness, this season of green and bright enables sorrowing souls to once again replenish.

No longer will we overwinter by crawling into bed at early darkness, staying covered and forlorn while night howls overhead.

Spring thaw, even though cold, presents a convolution of answers to troubling questions, a healing balm to aching spirits, restitution for tired ways.

Look, see spring’s elbowing short days to the back, enlisting forth the migration of life, calling to arms a warming hue, enlarging our sense of renewal, quickening our resolve.

Sighing pines shake off their snowy shawls, nobly stretching forth, once brittle, now warmth afoot, waving in with pliable coniferous reaches.

Of a noble and dominant lineage, spring flattens cheerlessness, forcing chronic crankiness to go away – far, far away.

Even though snow squalls may flit and fly about her stage, this season, colorful and clear, snubs wintry algorithms, fixing our sights, untempered, on embracing, not escaping life.

Handily managing such hopeless cells of our past, we soak up intoxicating nuances of promise, happily whistling through any and all intonations of our own morbidity.

Yet, even while strewn remnants of winter’s bluster attempt to convince us otherwise, we arrange our dreams in single file, lining them up at springtime’s budding entry before us.

Spring thaw, even though cold, presents a convolution of answers to troubling questions, a healing balm to aching spirits, restitution for tired ways.

Look, see, she’s elbowing short days to the back, enlisting forth the migration of life, calling to arms a warming hue, enlarging our sense of renewal, quickening our resolve.

Clothed in rebirth, Brother Sun extends his towering aim more directly toward Mother Earth, sharply reacquainting us with our inner compass, advising us to go further, courting us to proceed, tempting us to believe once again, inviting, “Will you, please?”

Hear, now, new life on tour, silencing winter’s growl by uploading morning with birdsong melodies vaulting us into revelation, directing us toward life, not away it.

Of a noble and dominant lineage, spring flattens cheerlessness, forcing chronic crankiness to go away – yes, far, far away.

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