From my kitchen window I can see a blue plastic sled stranded at the top of a small hill.

Last year, our first spring at Maplehurst, we edged the hill on one side with blueberry bushes. We shored up the other side with an asparagus patch. We planted a peach tree and a cold-hardy fig like two flags at the top, but the kids have carved a downward path that manages, usually, to carry their sleds around their mother’s precious plants.

The snowcover on the hill is shrinking, and the sled is marooned. I can imagine it still sitting there in July, nearly forgotten in the weeds.

The sled I see clearly, but it is much harder for me to imagine July’s green abundance. Here, in early March, there are no signs of new life. Instead, the snow seems to be coughing up rusted buckets and wilted kickballs.

These hinge weeks between winter and spring are always ugly, but, thanks to February’s ice storm, this one is particularly awful. Brown grass and mud are mixed with splintered wood; our world looks as if it has only just survived some disaster.

From my kitchen window, I see a waste land.

The trees, still bare, no longer remind me of elegant bones against the sky. Instead, they look naked, and I am ashamed for them.

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winter to spring1

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At church, it is the first Sunday of Lent. The cross carried in procession is veiled in purple, as if we cannot yet bear the sight of our redemption. Easter, like spring, is still too good to be true.

The reading from the Old Testament this day is from Genesis. Adam and Eve discover their nakedness, and they are ashamed.

This season I am following my friend Sue’s example and praying daily one simple prayer: Search me, God, and know my heart.

This prayer is simple and brief, but it isn’t easy to pray. It feels like a deliberate stepping out into the open with no clothes. Not even a fig leaf.

***

I thought this prayer would open my eyes to some sin. Instead, my eyes have been opened to something much more complicated.

T. S. Eliot describes it in his own meditation on a wasted, blasted land:

April is the cruelest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow …

Winter’s rest is melting away, and I am waking up to a great desire. And I find this terrifying. Exhilarating, too.

Spring won’t truly arrive until I have dreamed and ached to pick asparagus, blueberries, peaches and figs. First, the longing. Then, the feast.

And the new plans God has for my life can’t be realized unless I first recognize the desire planted in my heart.  Certain dreams will never come true unless I first wake up and remember them. But to remember them enough to pray for them is to stand naked before God. There is no more hiding the depth of my desire. There is no shrinking from the fear that he will say no or not yet. Sometimes spring is interrupted by a killing freeze.

God is tugging me – and you – towards resurrection.

But the road is a cruel one.

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