Last Friday afternoon was a tad unsettling. I was a part of a conversation that misfired. We couldn’t seem to connect. I kept misunderstanding her and I could tell that caused frustration.
Saturday I felt keenly my foreignness. Kansas was caucusing. I hardly know what that means and even my ignorance highlighted the fact that I clearly do not belong. Certainly I cannot vote. To be honest Donald Trump’s continued success is completely disconcerting. This is a year I’d love to be able to vote.
On Sunday I had a strange experience at church where I felt the tightening grip of anxiety in my chest just as I was about to go into to teach the elementary school kids the Bible story. I had a difficult time breathing. That has never happened to me before. I love those kids. Teaching is what I do. I hid in a bathroom stall for a few minutes, wiped tears from my eyes, took long deep drinks of oxygen and said some breath prayers. As quickly as it had surfaced, it was gone. I was fine. I went in and with animation retold the incredible miracle story of Lazarus dead and then Lazarus alive! But the anxiety freaked me out. It seemed so un-Robynn. What was happening to me?
Still the week wasn’t over. On Wednesday we received disturbing financial news from the non-profit we work for. They’ve been switching computer systems and the status of our account hasn’t been accurately reflected in our online statements. The weakened Canadian dollar, sending our son to university, my own studies in spiritual direction all have taken their toll. The deficit in our account is discombobulating to say the least.
My dad has been in and out of the ER the past couple of weeks. He has had kidney stones again this week and a strange and stubborn infection. Our youngest daughter hasn’t been feeling well. The middle one has been consumed with her future—career choices and college, ACT scores and the pressures of AP classes have kept her brain abuzz. There’s been some relational stresses simmering and those are never pleasant.
In the middle of this week, suddenly, we were surprised by spring. While the noises of the week were deafening my soul and doing their best to stomp out hope, spring silently tiptoed in. Lowell was on the front porch and he called to me to come look. Across the street, in full dress uniform, stood a magnolia tree dripping with huge pink corsages! I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before. Suddenly I had eyes to see. Daffodils and jonquils are peeking out mischievously. There’s a creeping bush next door that now boasts tiny coral pink flowers. Forsythia, the prophet bush that always announces the arrival of spring, is glorious and golden, and has popped out with a burst of yellow all over town.
There is consolation in the predictable rhythms of nature. Winter is over. Spring is here. We will have summer. We will see fall. Faithfully the seasons remind us of order and calm. Hope pushes through the dormant soil of winter, past the dead leaves of last year’s autumn and bursts into bloom again. Spring celebrates new life and the power of resurrection. The old is gone. The new is come. As quickly as this week’s stresses surfaced, they are quieted. I will be fine. Spring came in and with great animation retold the incredible story of the earth dead and then the earth alive! Miracles never cease.