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The Saturday Journal: What if Every Day Could be Spring

I found a nest full of baby bird eggs on this extra last day of February.  I didn’t expect to see them this soon.  I’ve been watching the bluebirds fluttering around in my backyard and in the field. They are the bluest of blue right now.  I have missed them.  The eggs--the birds--they are spring to me. 



And here we are–we have leaped into March. The month of March is kinda like a crossroads–there’s a decision to be made–turn to the left and there could be one of the biggest snowstorms of the year–the only snowfall thus far in my neck of the woods–if that happened.  But turn to the right and there are the most glorious colors of spring. 


Whatever comes in March–it will be exactly what the earth needs.  Count on that.  


But what if every day could be spring? Where our hearts soar with a rebirth of hope–where we would be more like trees after their long winter sleep bursting with joy–no longer holding their buds inside–where daffodils the color of cream and sunshine and tulips of reds and pinks and the deepest hues of purple crocuses jump out of the ground greeting the warmth of the sun.  What if every day could be spring where the grass turns a shade of delightful green and the blossoms on the cherry trees glow? 



I went to the library this week and as the librarian handed me this book, she said, ‘I just got through reading this.’ And I replied, ‘I’ve been wanting to read it for a while now, but wasn’t sure about it.’ She handed me the book and said, ‘Read it. You’ll be glad you did.’ 


She was right.


And this librarian on this March day when sleet made its way into rain, and the temperature felt like twenty, but the thermometer clearly read forty-six–she’s spring to me.  


Another young lady–she’s barely out of high school–and graduating from college in a few short years.  She’s studying hard to become a teacher–her hope is to work with exceptional children.  She gave me her business card a few days ago–she has her own business–crocheting little animals and characters and she creates crochet patterns and sells them.  She’s spring to me. 


The rain gently falls–the drops hitting the gutters making the sounds of a slow tambourine. And many of us will wake up on this March half spring/half winter morning–unamused at the drops of water falling.  A groaning in our spirit–rain ruining our outside plans–saying things like rain is depressing–rain is dreary--rain is...



And one little nuthatch–she's perched among the early Bradford pear blooms. There’s a cardinal sitting on the sagging lines of the weathered clothesline. Their feathers hold drops of rain and they are together making a melody of sorts. 


And there’s a family of bluebirds I see now–she flies in and out of the box–she and her mate taking turns.  One keeps watch and the other goes and picks up twigs and sticks and leftover pine needles. They’re building their home–preparing for their spring babies. And the rain continues– seeping in the greening grass and soon worms will rise out of the ground and the bluebird family–their babies will be fed. 



I saw you this week. Your hair shone in the light–a soft gray, peppered with white strands.  You were sitting outside, not on a stool or a chair, but flat–deep in the soil. You had a trash bag beside you.  I took a double take and the scene–it was quiet. You were a picture of contentment–a photo of jubilee--hands in the dirt weeding your garden–making room for the flowers to come forth. And you are spring to me. 



According to “research” and "talk" and "attitudes" as we age our lives are labeled as “half-over”-- “two-thirds of the way over” or the phrase  “on the downhill slide”. And call me crazy if you will, but I have this way of seeing the numbers between one and one hundred.  I see it in my mind these numbers on an imaginary line–going up–like a ladder. It rises. It doesn’t fall. Birthdays are marked on this ladder--the day we are born starts at the bottom and we continually climb. And this ladder is not meant to be climbed to break any glass ceiling–to achieve any promotion or wealth or fame or whatever feeds an ego. It’s to be climbed to see a better view–a nourishment for the soul. To appreciate more of what's right in front of us--to be more grateful in the quiet and simple--to see the beauty of hope–in a face--a smile--a flower--a raindrop--to rejoice in the gift of a new day–a new beginning–a new season--to get a glimpse of a better view of home. 


And the sun breaks through the drained puffy cotton cloud–the squirrel is upside down on the birdfeeder stealing what seeds he can–hanging on by a wing and a prayer–like the rest of us on certain days--and the bird with the tiniest of beaks is sitting on the highest of limbs–singing his praise song.


And every day can be spring.




 

A humble thank you for reading The Saturday Journal.

My prayer is to share The Saturday Journal every Saturday or at least bi-weekly--

but always on Saturdays. If you would like to have The Saturday Journal come to your email box, please subscribe to A Beautiful Grace blog and newsletter at

All photos @copyright Tathel Miller, unless otherwise credited to another photographer.



2 comments

2 Comments


Another beautiful, charming piece that brightens the day. It is lovely to hear of the birds, especially bluebirds, that chirp outside our doors. So much to cherish if we look around us...and that is what your article makes one realize.

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Some days I feel like I’m hanging on my a wing and prayer. Thank you for sharing these uplifting and thought provoking stories!

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