Writing – Page 10

Why Spring Matters

My husband is from Texas. I never thought I’d marry a Texan, being a Northern girl, but I’ve become quite fond of the state–it has abundant sunshine, no state income tax, and in-laws that I love dearly. And although I am grateful for my community and family here in Illinois, there is always a moment in the middle of, say, January, when I start watching the weather report for Texas and I wonder, again, why we live in the cold.

The sunlight fades so rapidly in the winter that I am constantly shocked. It is like losing my keys every day of the week at 4 pm–I’m sure I just misplaced the sunlight, or just set it down here, or just forgot it in my purse over there. But no. The grayness is perpetual. And after December passes, I have moments where I feel like a disgruntled Narnian: always winter, never Christmas.

But then comes May. And I remember that Illinois has redeeming qualities. Because there is nothing–nothing–like the transformation that occurs after a difficult winter.

It is an awakening.

I stop flinching every time I open the front door. I stop waking up in pale light. I stop closing the blinds. I stop feeling slightly sad.

Spring.

Spring. Both a noun and a verb–a delightful combination in a word. And it means both. Spring, as a beloved season, is lush and full and beautiful and hopeful. And it is springing–up, up, up through the earth that has been wetted with a trillion flakes of snow. There is life that has been hiding there, waiting. There are blossoms that have been waiting in seeds, colors that have been waiting in the darkness. There is a breath that has been held, and now the earth is exhaling.

And now all becomes visible. All of the hidden colors and seeds and life come bursting through the earth to declare a new season. To declare a new start. To declare that winter is not the end. To declare a good God who does not let death have the last word. And the disgruntled Narnian in me starts remembering that Aslan is on the move.

This is why Spring matters to me–it reminds me that even the things that look the deadest and most withered can be revived. That earth that has been hardened by ice so think no saw could cut it through–that same earth will become tender with life. The places in my heart that feel dead, or tired, or gray, or just sad–they can be made new. In Christ, they will be made new.

Spring is here. And I am thankful to live in a place where the extremes of the seasons on this swirling earth remind me of a greater Story that is swirling around me.

*This is a Writing Wednesdays post! The prompt for this week: Take a word–like “spring”–that has more than one meaning, and write about ways that those meanings overlap and connect. And, as always, I would love for you to leave a comment linking to your favorite piece of writing from your own blog, or to a response to this prompt!

A New Series: Writing Wednesdays

I have been writing, now, for decades. It started back in elementary school, when we were given blank books in second grade, books that were pure white, inside and out. The covers, the pages, the seams of the binding—all of it, whiter than winter clouds. There were no lines, no rules. Just space. For a student who went to school long before photo websites offered personalized books for any and every occasion, a blank book was a mystery and a rarity. It felt like a prize.

And all of these pages were given to me—for filling. I was given empty space and also the opportunity to fill it. It felt, to me, like a great gift.

It also felt, to me, like a burden.

All writing is like that for me—a gift and a burden. I am not handed blank books anymore; there is no teacher setting one down on my desk every month. Instead, I open a new screen and seek to fill the space with meaningful words that recall moments and share stories and offer truth. It is a gift to be able to write. It is also a holy burden to seek to do that well, and faithfully.

I have spent the better part of the last ten years studying words, learning how to tie them together with strands so thin they part like fumes in the wake of a whisper. I have spent time with words, learning how to train them like sentinels waiting for the trumpet blow, ready to release the hammering blow of truth to any ready listener.

I love words. I spend my days, now, teaching college students how to use them with grace and with power, for a purpose greater than themselves. I write in this space, I write for other publications, and I write in my journal as a way of knowing God more fully. I am, it seems, unraveled and built up most easily by words.

With these things in mind, I am starting #WritingWednesdays here on the blog. I want to offer some of what I have learned over the last decade to others who also want to write—not because I am a spectacular writer, but because writing is one of the gifts I have to offer others. I teach it to others for a living, and I thought this might be a fun space to share some writing prompts, tips, and tools.

Let me know in the comments (at the top of the post) if you have any particular questions you would like answered in this series. I’m also offering a “Linky Party” for those of you who want to join in the conversation about writing. If you are writing about writing or want to respond to the question “How has writing been important in your life?” through a blog post, feel free to link up below so that we can get to know one another and enjoy one another’s writing! If you’re on Instagram or Twitter, use the #WritingWednesdays hashtag so that we can connect!

Why Spring Matters

A New Series: Writing Wednesdays

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