I come from a winter people.  My mother’s family is from Norway and I grew up in Rochester, NY where “lake affect” snow buried us every winter.  Cold, snow and gray skies feel like home.

This has been a great winter for New England.  We missed the blizzards which pounded New York City and Washington, DC.  We’ve had enough sub-zero days for me to wear every one of my heavy Icelandic or Irish sweaters.  And we’ve had lots and lots of sunshine.  Snowfall has been pretty without piling into huge drifts making driving unmanageable.  We’ve had little to complain about this winter.

So why do I long for Spring with the passion of one trapped in a snowbank for three months?  After such an easy winter, why do I ache to see crocuses, rejoice to hear song birds, and breathe with joy the sunny balmy breeze promising spring?  I love how our liturgical calendar moves us through seasons of reflection, hope and joy.  The shadows of Lent melt into blooming lilies of Easter.  There is something basic and human about longing for spring and waiting breathlessly for the season of resurrection.  So go outside and take a walk.  Watch for spring flowers to sprout.  Look for sunrise in early dawn.  Pray constantly as the season turns from wintery death to the spring of resurrected life.