Spring is starting to show up in subtle ways. A few vibrant daffodils along the roads. Several purple crocuses mixed with a few white ones. Busy birds beginning nests.

New beginnings.

Glimpses of hope.

Whisperings of promises.

I don’t know if this is actually the time of year that Jesus was crucified or not. Maybe it was chosen by the church a long time ago. But it makes perfect sense, either way.

Spring is about all about new beginnings. About new life. About miracles. About resurrection.

It’s about coming back to life. What once was lost is found. What once was dead is alive.

So many people talk about seasons of life. Seasons of motherhood. Seasons of marriage.

Honestly, I cannot think of a better season than Spring to undergo this season of *my* marriage. My broken marriage. To undertake mending the things that are not working. To undergo the difficult work of sowing new hope.

Spring. Our spring. A time to begin again. To plant new seeds. To start new habits. To nurture much-needed, too-long overshadowed opportunities for growth.

Because they are there. They’ve been there for a while. In need of attention. But as they sat neglected, they, much like the buds of spring, were buried under layers of fallen leaves {of neglect} and last year’s mulch {busy-ness}.

They were covered by yesterday. Many, many yesterdays.

But much like those vibrant daffodils that have pushed their way through the layers of debris {and death}, resurrection {new life} hails.

It calls to us. It invites us. It whispers promises of hope to our weary souls.

And, it is Spring.

Beauty abounds beneath all of the yesterdays. Today brings another sprout, another bud, another blossom.

There is no need to let yesterday define my marriage.

We may have been languishing in yesterday, but today, we are choosing to languish no more.

It’s Friday {death claims the win}. But Sunday is coming.

And like Jesus, my marriage, *our* marriage, is coming back to life.

New life.


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