I feel like it's been winter time the past 18 months. Not literally, of course. Just a time of winter. There are a very few sermons I've heard over the course of my lifetime that I remember. One such sermon was in 2005. Our pastor at the time was preaching about faith. He said, "Faith is not about believing that God CAN do it. It's about believing that God WILL do it." I've thought about that over and over since then. I mean, I believe that God CAN do anything. ANYTHING! There is absolutely nothing He cannot do. But. Do I believe that He WILL do it, that He WILL do the thing I'm praying for? So many times the answer is honestly . . . no. I do not. So that has really challenged me over the years and is one of the things that has radically changed my prayer life.
There was something - a really BIG something - I was praying and believing God for. I knew He COULD do it. I didn't know HOW. But I figured that didn't matter because He is God, and He CAN do it. I was also confident that not only could He do it, but He WOULD do it. After all, it was a very good thing. It was a much better thing in my mind, and it made perfect sense. It would "solve a lot of problems." It was "the answer." So during the past two years, the door finally began to open a crack. That crack was all I needed. I was CERTAIN it was coming. You know. IT. One time in particular the door actually swung wide open, but before we could walk through it, it closed. So I kept on praying. After all, I was sure it would open again. This past fall there was another crack in the door. But before it could swing open, it slammed shut.
I knew it shut. I knew deep down that, not only was it shut, but it was locked. I didn't stop praying though. Nor did I voice it. Because as soon as I did that, I knew the key was thrown away. My plan was "better," and I wasn't about to scrap it for a new one, even if that new one was really THE BEST (because, let's face it, it was God's plan). Seth and I hadn't really talked about it. We'd talked around it. But we'd never really faced it. And then a couple of months ago he looked at me and said, "That door closed." And that was it for me. It had been winter for a very long time, and then a hard, deep freeze set in. It wasn't pretty.
Around the same time, everyone around here started planting their gardens. It was only March, but planting season comes early because it gets so warm so quickly. I've enjoyed my little raised beds over the years. I love the whole process of planting and watering and growing and harvesting. But it also frustrates me because I don't have the time I need to spend out there tending to it, and it usually ends up a hot mess. By the time June rolls around, I'm kind of done with it anyway because it's literally so muggy and hot outside. Last year I decided I wasn't even going to fool with it at all. I could just bum fresh garden veggies from my father-in-law. That's pretty much what I did. He gave me some leftover tomato plants and insisted I plant them so I did. But that's about all I did. All of my beds had since grown over with weeds and were a horrid sight to see. I'd decided not to plant this year either for all the reasons I just mentioned. Besides, as much as I hated the sight of those overgrown beds, I hated even more the thought of getting out there and putting in the work to actually clean them up. I just couldn't do it. I even thought of getting rid of them altogether so I wouldn't have to look at them. Next thing I know, Seth spends six hours out there one Saturday getting all my beds ready for planting. I didn't ask him to do that, and he certainly didn't have the time to do it. But he did.
I was afraid those beds were going to be overtaken by weeds again before I had time to plant. But my dear friend told me that for my birthday she wanted to take me to buy some plants for my garden. So she did. Those plants sat on my back porch for two weeks before I had time to plant them, but the girls and I got out there Easter weekend and planted everything. Signs of spring and growth and new life . . .
Around the same time, I also hung ferns on the back porch. I just think there's nothing more southern than ferns hanging on a porch (except maybe sweet tea. . . and magnolias . . . and peach pie). I began to notice a very frequent feathered visitor lighting on the top of one of my ferns. After several days I noticed the top of that fern was all smashed down and not fluffy like the other ones. I carefully took the fern down, and my suspicions were confirmed. There was a tiny little nest with four eggs sitting in the middle of it. That mama bird was crazy busy last week so I took the fern down again over the weekend. There are now three baby birdies in that nest. I haven't watered that fern for fear I will drown the babies, and I will most likely have to just replace the whole thing once they fly away. But I don't even care. It's worth it. I've enjoyed every minute watching that mama bird fly back and forth and into that nest. I look for her every morning when the sun comes up, I look for her every afternoon when we get home. I watched her sit on top of that nest and cover her babies this evening as a storm passed through and swung that basket back and forth while the rain blew in on it. Those speckled blue eggs and baby birds . . . another sign of spring and growth and new life . . .
But the one thing we didn't lose was my Grandmother's lilies. My mama and I dug these up out of her flower garden many years ago. I planted some at our house in Mississippi, and I planted them again after we built this house. Year after year after year they come right back up and smile at me, Grandmother smiles at me. The ones beside the garage are on full display this spring, and they make me so happy (although you can still see all of the barrenness behind them). But still. Signs of spring and growth and new life . . .
I'd love to live somewhere that experiences a true winter because I just think there's something so magical about falling snow and frozen lakes and icicle covered trees. I love winter time for so many reasons. There's so much beauty in the barrenness of it (but not in front of my house!). That's what promotes such a beautiful spring. And maybe that's what makes the flowers even more beautiful, the veggies even more tasty.
A couple of weeks ago I had the opportunity to experience a thawing of sorts. I'd been barren for a long time. Letting go of my plan that I had clung to and prayed diligently for and really believed God would do it was humbling, to say the very least. I was undone. I NEEDED to be undone. And I'm still not quite there yet. But there are signs of spring and new growth.