It’s almost spring!

Today’s sunshine is a welcome sight for winter-weary eyes. A delicate hoarfrost coats every deciduous branch, transforming our side yard into an enchanted silver forest. Under the cerulean sky, ice diamonds glint, randomly scattered across a royal mantle of snow. There’s no denying the glory of winter, even one as long and harsh as this one has been. It came early and shows no signs of leaving anytime soon.

I take a daily dose of vitamins, sit with my SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) lamp during morning devotions and fall asleep almost every night by 9 pm. I’m thankful for Norton because having a dog forces me outside for a walk every day, regardless of the weather. Preparing for that can be a chore, though. Oh, for the days of flip-flops, T-shirts and shorts.

North of here, the good people of Wiarton, Ont., gathered at dawn to find out whether Willie, an albino groundhog, would see his shadow, signalling six more weeks of winter. Turns out he didn’t see his shadow, allegedly forecasting an early spring (probably about a month and a half away). Winter drives us to desperate measures, doesn’t it?

Meet Maggie

The heavily drifted fields seem like a different planet from the summer, when heat shimmers over the earth and crops reach for the sun. My flowerbeds are mostly buried, but I know the tulips and daffodils are biding their time under there somewhere. The weigela and hydrangeas look as if they’ve given up the ghost, but my dear magnolia bush stands with brave optimism, loaded with buds.

I remember the day I spotted the little shrub at the garden centre. “Very hardy specimen,” it said on the tag. I smiled, translating that into, “Hard to kill.” Small but mighty. It seemed even smaller once it was out of the pot and stuck in the ground. The first spring, it gave us a grand total of four blooms. They promptly froze off the very next day. I wondered if it would survive. But it did. The foliage was deep green and lush that summer. When the leaves dropped in October, I was surprised to see the branches loaded with plump, fluffy buds. In the years since, Maggie has grown into a magnificent bush – tall, full and prolific. This year, she already promises another spectacular display. Soon – right? But not yet!

The world to come

It’s a reminder of the “already and not yet” – a theological concept worth contemplating as we journey through Lent. Christians are living between Christ’s first coming (the inauguration of the kingdom) and his return (its consummation). We’re already saved, but not yet perfected. Our present reality includes the assurance of salvation, the presence of the Holy Spirit and generous providence, but for now we continue to wander through the desert, waiting for our deliverance into the promised land. The sombre reflections of Lent lead to the joyful songs of Easter.

For all its beauty and blessings, this life is tinged with sorrow and struggle. We all have times when it’s simply impossible to imagine the serenity and joy of the world to come, the place where we are guaranteed eternal citizenship.

Whatever your “already” is today – sunshine or storms, take a lesson from the magnolia – stand confidently and be ready for the “not yet.”

We’re almost there!