THANKFUL FRIDAY

The transition from Winter to Spring is tumultuous in my neck of the woods. There are signs of Spring by mid-March, but then everything seems to go into a holding pattern for weeks while we jump back and forth between 70 degrees and just above freezing temperatures. The greens of the tulips I have planted in my front yard have been up and out of the ground for weeks and weeks now. Some of them look like they’ve been chewed on. The same could be said for the tulips they plant in the gardens at work. The green parts have been out of the ground for ages without any hint of a bud. I have seen this all over the city with the tulips. Even the redbuds have had tiny purple or white egg shaped buds on them for week without actually blooming. The tips of the tree branches have little swirls of red or green that just might unfurl into leaves.

I thought that maybe my tulips just wouldn’t bloom. They are old bulbs and I have been told by the gardeners at work that I really should replant every three years. They replant the tulips bulbs at work every Fall. I feel like I was doing well to plant the bulbs years ago in the first place. I am surprised every year when they pop up out of the ground. It is the same feeling I have whenever I discover eggs in the chicken coop. I found four eggs in there the other day, with Margarette hovering over them because most of them were her’s. That same day, I was walking outside at work and noticed that there were flower buds nestled inside each green swirl of leaves. These were joyful moments indeed, but when I noticed that my very own tulips also had buds, my heart leaped.

Moving from Winter to Spring is a practice in patience and humility. I always think of myself as a very patient person. Yet, the time between Winter and Spring strains my patience to the thinnest when I want everything to be in bloom with consistent days of warmth. I should not have to wear my winter coat to work in April. Some times, when I am driving to a new destination, I get slightly anxious about turning on the right street. I always get the feeling that I’ve missed the street but the reality is always that I didn’t drive far enough. This was something Chris and I would laugh and joke about. It’s always further than you think. Moving into Spring is just like this except instead of driving, I am waiting. Seeing the buds on the tulips this week just tells me that we’re close. We haven’t missed it. We just haven’t waited long enough.

Drive a little further.