Springtime is beginning to show its vibrant face at our house. The sun is brighter, the sky is bluer, and the evenings are stretching longer into the night. We have a trail near our home where we walk our dogs. Their excitement about being outside again, without the mud and mess, makes me feel like winter is finally over. 

Our trail runs alongside a creek that winds and curves. Sometimes it’s wide, and other times you might mistake it for a moving puddle. I find it so calming to walk beside it and listen to the water flow. The dogs love to stop along the bank and stare at nothing, as though they’re on some fantastical journey, and they’re leading the way. 

Somewhere between the bends of the creek, I realized our lives are in a similar place, the end of one season and the start of another. I’m excited, well, mostly I am. Of course, there’s a part of me that wants to hold on to what’s familiar. But staying the same isn’t what brings us life.

I ran into my neighbor today; it seems like I haven’t seen some of my neighbors since winter started. It’s been so cold and dark. But today, the sun was shining brightly, and she was walking with her babies. During our quick chat, we both agreed that today felt like we were emerging from hibernation. Our energy was higher, and the sadness that you didn’t even realize had quietly crept in was starting to lift. 

We agreed that God knew exactly what He was doing when He created the seasons; we need them. 

Sometimes I miss the days when life felt full and predictable. I wish I could rewind to the best times, relive them, and stay there longer. Those were the days when children played in the yard, and your mom was available for lunch dates. I also believe that if only the best moments happened all the time, I might not truly realize they are the best. It’s through comparing these good times to challenging ones that we truly appreciate the difference. This contrast is what helps us see clearly. Life can feel wide and open, and at other times more confined, like the creek. 

Life feels heavy for me right now. I sense I’m carrying the sorrow of something that hasn’t happened yet. I catch myself bracing as life shifts around me. The tension is strong. Maybe that’s why I’ve been spending more time on the trail lately; it gives me the space I need as I feel the inevitable approaching.

Just like a creek, when the water gets stirred up, what’s been resting at the bottom comes back to the surface. That’s how my grief feels right now. My mother’s absence quietly lives in me, but lately it seems stronger, as if this season of letting go has stirred up old sorrow.  

Layer after layer of grief deepens us. In a world without grief, we wouldn’t fully appreciate the true joy of new beginnings or answered prayers. Maybe the most meaningful parts of life are found in that tension, where grief and joy coexist. 

I can hear the crunch of leaves beneath my feet as I turn and make my way home, a gentle reminder that winter isn’t far gone. The dogs are running ahead, and the sun has warmed us enough that I can remove my jacket and tie it around my waist. Taking this walk and having time to think helps me breathe a little deeper as I face what so many have faced over the years. We raise our children to become adults. Some take longer than others, but eventually they do. 

So, here I am, being honest and vulnerable as we start our “spring.” 

It’s going to be great, but really tough.

The best things in life always are.