Today dawned sunny and clear. I believed its promises of a cheery spring day, but alas...the rain clouds rolled in and the drizzle began late this afternoon.
Everything is getting wonderfully green and I know that doesn't happen without rain, so I try not to get too bummed over the drizzly days.
The trees are filling in with tiny new leaves and buds. The tulips are blooming, which delights me to no end. The grass is thick and soft and so very green. (Winter can make one forget the intensity and abundance of green that spring and summer bring.)
Remember all the work the city did on my street last year - the water shut off for a day and the road torn up and the yards all full of trenches and other similar nonsense? Well, they came through this week and reseeded the areas of grass that they'd torn up.
I came home from work yesterday to find my yard - and other patches up and down the street - thoroughly saturated with this blue spray-on grass seed (and presumably some type of fertilizer). As odious as the color and idea of "spray-on" grass is, I'm eager for the possibility that the poor, forlorn yard might actually be revived.
It will have the challenges of damp, compacted soil, and the all-enveloping shade of two big trees.
But one can always hope.
Sometimes I catch myself thinking life is crazy right now, but truly, it's only crazy in my head.
Work feels slow. The school is quiet this week, with all of our upperclassmen gone. The guest house projects have mostly all wound down. My last small group discussion is jotted down and ready for next Tuesday.
Perhaps in reaction to this unexpected stillness, my brain has once again kicked into overdrive on the school consolidation -
When exactly will I be moving and how will I pack my stuff and what will I be doing when I get there and will it feel like home and what will church be like and are groceries and gas really that much more expensive and who will my neighbors be and what will 'they' think of 'us' and how long will it take before our two teams feel like one team?
Round and round it goes.
When I get so stuck inside my own head, sometimes the best thing to do is slip my shoes on and take a walk - even a short one.
The motion and the fresh air and the scenery rarely fail to clear my thoughts.
Today I waited for the drizzle to stop and then circled the block, the air still heavy with humidity.
The green seemed especially vibrant against the gray skies. Every day, new tulips open with their blissful optimism.
Steady, cheerful yellow.
Deep purple.
Blush.
Red and yellow streaked together.
Tangerine.
Salmon.
Classic cherry.
White.
Lavender in the softest whisper.
Sunset.
Oh, so many colors.
I love them all.
And I love that God, in a gesture of pure and lavish love, created things like tulips simply for us to enjoy - to wonder at their detail and variety, to smile at their beauty.
This love can still questions and anxiety and racing thoughts.
This love lets me exhale at the end of the day, no matter what it has held.
