I write these words on a day in late April, the half-gray sky with muted sunshine. The grass is a mild shade of green and the snow has melted, though mini icebergs remain where plows stacked the snow into piles.

April is a season of change; a transition from one extreme to the other. Just as in our lives, we may find something new emerging, something changing, something transitioning, something growing, and something dying. There is always something to remember and something to forget, something to cry about and something to laugh about, something that is buried and something that is resurrected. Spring is hopeful and full of reminders that God is still in charge watching over us; He is the constant of grace and source of hope blanketing this world.

I imagine a spring in the south when my mind conjures up images of spring. In the Upper Midwest, April is still finding its spring legs, while in the South, April is already learning how to walk. In the Midwest, the sky is still visible through mostly bare tree branches, but further south, lacy flowering trees outlined with green fringe obscure the sky.  Most days are sunny in the deep south, but the sunshine is not guaranteed in the much further north. (I wouldn’t be a very good marketing agent for relocation to the Midwest, would I?!)


On this blog, in fact, I documented that on April 4, 2011, we had a hailstorm. But on April 9, 2012, the following year, on Easter Sunday, tulips were blooming a month earlier than usual. Just last year, in 2017, daffodils were already in bloom by now; today, the green stems are perhaps half-grown.

April is a state of unease for me the past couple of years. Perhaps I identify with the spring and winter tussling with each other. Perhaps it is connected with the academic school year, as my kids face the end of a school year and the summer months ahead.  Perhaps I am aware of seasons passing and moving in my own life, as my birthday is approaching in May and I know I am getting older. Perhaps there is more (indeed, there is more). 🙂

I am reminded of this quote:

“God, our hearts are restless ’til they find their rest in you.”  –Augustine

In any season, our hearts will be restless until they find their true rest in the Creator.

Let my teaching fall like rain
    and my words descend like dew,
like showers on new grass,
    like abundant rain on tender plants. – Deuteronomy 32:2



As promised, here are a few poems about spring.



by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –
   When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
   Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
   The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
   The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
   A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. – Have, get, before it cloy,
   Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
   Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.

My April Lady
By Henry Van Dyke


When down the stair at morning
The sunbeams round her float,
Sweet rivulets of laughter
Are bubbling in her throat;
The gladness of her greeting
Is gold without alloy;
And in the morning sunlight
I think her name is Joy.

When in the evening twilight
The quiet book-room lies,
We read the sad old ballads,
While from her hidden eyes
The tears are falling, falling,
That give her heart relief;
And in the evening twilight,
I think her name is Grief.

My little April lady,
Of sunshine and of showers,
She weaves the old spring magic,
And breaks my heart in flowers!
But when her moods are ended,
She nestles like a dove;
Then, by the pain and rapture,
I know her name is Love.

The Enkindled Spring
by D.H. Lawrence
This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.
And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that’s gone astray, and is lost.

*All images from pixabay