The cold snap eases its grip slightly, begrudgingly, giving in to the inevitability of change.

If we hadn’t rocked over our front flower bed last year, I imagine I would have seen the green of brave crocuses by now. They would have been covered by snow, and uncovered again, and I’d marvel at their tenacity  in the grip of late winter. As it is, I look elsewhere for signs of change, and the promise of spring.

The magnitude of change we’ve experienced over the past twelve months is immeasurable, and the effect different for everyone. We can’t help longing for what was, but feel in our bones that what was will be no more. We feel angst in our imaginings about what the future will hold and wonder how history will remember these times. This is change like we never could have imagined.

As I write this, I’m watching the morning sky grow lighter. It’s still dark, but there’s a promise of what is to come in the changing hues. The peace I feel in this moment with a sleeping dog on my lap, another curled up on the sofa next to me, and my husband downstairs eating oatmeal, sipping coffee, and reading scripture, will soon be broken as we move into the busyness of the day.

But for now, in this moment, I rest easy as I am filled. Enough for this day, that’s all I need.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
1 comment
  1. Beautiful writing, Linda.

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