I love spring. Especially when it's right outside my window. Which it is today. The green things are greening, the flowers are flowering, the buds are budding.
Obviously, words fail. (Although I think I did a better job here, when my creative edge wasn't being lured outdoors to bask in the sunshine. The hope of spring is better for one's writing than the reality of spring.) So here are a few picture of What Spring Means To Me:
Nothing says Spring Has Arrived in Minnesota like a closetful of coats and mittens and boots and snow pants washed and ready to be put away. (Of course, nothing says "Ha! Now you're getting five inches of snow this weekend, sucka!" like this either. But I'm choosing to ignore that thought. Because it's evil.)
This past weekend, it was 89 at our house. We haven't seen temperatures like that since about ... oh ... July 31, 2006. (Not that I'm keeping track or anything.) And when the mercury goes up, the grill lights up. (Wow! I've got it goin' on today!) For our inaugural BBQ of the season, we had some of our favorite summer fare: cajun turkey burgers with monterey jack cheese, amazing bell peppers and other assorted veggies, chips and guac (not pictured for the sake of poor Sarah and all those who read her blog) and a fresh pineapple that tasted as if the Goddess of Hawaii grew it herself. Just for us.
After dinner, we took the boat for a spin on the lake. One of the cool things about our lake (to be known henceforth as The Big Lake, until mid-summer when it will become The Green Slimy Lake) is that the entire north side of the lake is a state park. Meaning it's nature as God intended it. These are a few of the trees, gracing us with their spring attire.
Does anything say spring more than baby horses? I think not. (And just to be clear, there are now five ponies in that field. FIVE! Each and every one is so stinkin' cute I can hardly stand it.)
Wait! What's that doing there?!? That's not right. (Although -- true story -- I did take this picture early in April. When I was ready to gnaw through my veins with my teeth rather than endure One More Day in this noxious state. But spring in the Upper Midwest is like the pain of childbirth. It's all howls and screaming -- until the soft sun caresses your skin and the robins sing outside your window and you are all, "Winter?!? What winter? It can't be that bad.")
To make up for the cruelty of my last shot, here's a slice of God's glory for y'all. The sunset as seen from my living room Sunday night.
And my final spring picture? This old (really old) picture of me and my husband on our wedding day, which was 14 years ago today. (And in case you're wondering, yes, I was 13 when I got married. But I was born in Kentucky, and that's how we do 'em thar.)
I could tell you that our marriage has been a storybook romance, full of laughter and friendship and love. But that would be a lie.
What I can tell you is that I've seen God's grace and love burst through the giant holes in our marriage and make something beautiful out of something ready to fall apart from bitterness and neglect. I can tell you that there is no earthly explanation for the fact that we are still married -- and what's more, deeply in love -- after all we've been through. I can tell you that I've never known intimacy with God or understood His mercy until I tasted them these past few years.
But that's our God. He's like that -- a miracle worker, who is beyond comprehension. He truly makes all things new.
It's just like spring.