By: Cia Huston Dreves
Why anyone would decide to begin a fresh, new year in the inhospitable month of January is more than I can see. I much prefer April or May. After all, that’s when so much is made of the warming of the days, the hopes of new growth. People look forward to trees in blossom. Seed catalogues begin arriving in the mail. Windows are opened, and spring cleaning begins. It seems a much more appropriate time for “out with the old, in with the new” slogans. If your New Year’s resolutions, like mine, seldom survive into the second week of January, I invite you to join me in taking a new look at the spring season.
Spring is the perfect time of year to roll up our sleeves, put on our big-girl britches and make something happen in our lives. For me, I need to get past the loss of my husband. All of the dreaded “firsts” have passed: the first anniversary, first Christmas, first birthday since he’s been gone. Yes, I spent a year just putting one foot in front of the other and going through the motions of living my life, but I know in my heart that my heart hasn’t been in anything. Shame on me! No, no. That’s not really fair. Each of us grieves in our own way, and we must allow ourselves at least that. So, I’m not sorry or ashamed for my lackluster performance on the stage of life these past months. But I am in the mood to do something about changing it.
My garden went to seed and weeds, and so, I think, have I. I’m a bit wider than I should be. My house is not so neat. Projects have piled up as procrastination has taken over. When I ask myself, “What have I been thinking?” it occurs to me that I’ve been thinking, “Nothing.” Nothing at all. “Good grief, Charlie Brown!” And the years are ticking by.
As I considered a change in direction, I found myself gathering armloads of those old New Year’s “resolutions,” planning a “new beginning” for the spring…a chance to start everything fresh— an actual DO-OVER. I considered that although I cannot BE younger, I could at least THINK younger. Then I moved fully into “resolution” mode with admonitions and cheerleading phrases. Fortunately, my dear daughter came to the rescue before I was too far over the cliff. She reminded me that neither weight nor tidiness nor other external factors define us. Whether she was scolding me or encouraging me, I’m not exactly certain, but her words repeated and repeated in my thoughts until, at last, I came to the source of my consternation.
It was actually quite simple…somewhat like becoming an empty-nester. When we face dramatic changes in our lives, we often lose sight of ourselves. Even if it’s the loss of a job, when what we DID is no longer what we DO, our “who-am-I” monitor starts to go off. Perhaps it is because we tend to define ourselves in terms of what we do instead of who we are. I had been “wife” for so long that it was both what I did and who I was. “Widow” was all new to me, and I couldn’t make it fit. I couldn’t grasp it or understand it, and I surely did not like it, neither as a designation nor an identification, but I had developed no alternatives.
When I overheard my grandchildren discussing what they wanted to be when they grew up, I chuckled to myself, thinking, “That’s what I’m asking myself too.” So, for weeks, I pondered the question. I remembered long ago wanting to become the next Georgia O’Keeffe or John Steinbeck. But I had become the mother of eight instead. I wondered if those old dreams could be revisited. I wondered if the boldness of the young me still existed in the older version of me. Actually, I spent several, self-indulgent weeks thinking about myself. Then, on a crisp, sunny morning, with coffee in hand, I sat in my favorite chair on the front porch, soaking in the splendor of the dew sparkling in the grass, watched a couple of squirrels chasing each other around the trunk of the old oak tree and listened to the chirping of the morning birds. It felt quite a bit like spring, though it was still the middle of our Florida winter. It was a lovely feeling, and I thought quite a bit about spring that morning.
Spring seems to be a time when all things are made new. The brown grasses become green again, the sky is especially blue and there is a fragrance on the breeze that is unmistakable. There is an energy to spring. Perhaps it is an energy that we can absorb. Perhaps God has given it to us as a gift. Perhaps there is even more to learn from the season.
The azalea bush never bursts forth with dogwood flowers. The tender blades of grass never grow into stalks of corn. There is an orderliness to all of God’s creations. At the heart of all things, is the seed of what those things are intended to be. I will never become you, and you will never become me. Each of us is unique, not for what we do but for who we are. Perhaps spring is a time for each of us to reenergize, to be all that we can be (to borrow a phrase from the Army).
Although living things are renewed and energized each spring, though they stay true to themselves, still they are never the same one spring to the next. The roots of the trees sink deeper into the ground with each passing year. The shrubs grow taller. And we, too, are changed as the years pass by. Occasionally, as I have learned, we need to reflect, to see how far we’ve come and how far we have yet to go. We need to reintroduce ourselves to ourselves and remember that we are each unique and beautiful and ready to bloom anew with each approaching spring. Feel the energy.