It feels like spring is never coming this year.
Intellectually, I know that's not true. Spring always comes. I can't remember a year when the trees didn't eventually sprout leaves, when the flowers didn't bloom, when the warmth didn't come and make me throw open my windows.
But right now, stuck in this April that thinks it's March, my emotions aren't swayed by truth.
Saturday morning, we woke up to this.
It melted by noon ("I just lived through a Southern winter!") but even after it was gone, the wind howled and the temperature stayed in the upper 30s and it was just raw and bitter outside.
This week is no better. Our forecasted highs are in the 40s, most days are supposed to be cloudy and windy. And now there's a winter storm watch for Tuesday night into Wednesday afternoon. We could wind up with six (or more) inches of snow.*
I am losing my optimism and natural sense of goodwill. I mean, come on, Minnesota. I chose you. And this is how you behave?
It's difficult, it not impossible, to maintain a vague, wishy-washy hope in an endless winter.
No amount of wishing, no Disney-esque "I believe" will get you through the numbing discouragement, the dull monotony, the raw despair.
When spring delays, only God-grown hope and faith will get you through. Believing truth in spite of what your eyes see or your heart feels. Having an eager expectation that you will receive what's been promised. Biblical hope and faith are action words, words that imply we will need to defy our surroundings to make them real.
There is little proof in my world right now of spring's imminent arrival. I'm grumpy about enduring another week of socks, another week indoors, another week without leaves or blue skies or warm lunches outside.
But in my deepest soul, I believe. I hope. I know.
*To be clear, the winter storm advisory is my fault. I washed and put away the kids' snow clothes this past weekend, which every God-fearing winter-dwelling soul knows is a weather jinx. Mea culpa.