Spring is finally doing it's thing here in Michigan. The past few weeks have hosted a March-like dance between flurries and raindrops along with the ever so April days full of clouds and showers--some of my very favorite days--days that make me think of Beatrix Potter.
Living with the seasons has become a way of life in our little family. My inner world seems to reflect the outer, for example, with winter lingering on and on I've found the last two weeks to be an experience of being nearly dragged out of my winter cave. A mama bear, not ready to face the hunger or the limbering of long still muscles that must be dealt with after a long, long stay in the cave.
Those winter months, I adore them. Inward reflection is my favorite time. For years I dreaded the coming of Summer and the smoldering hot action that comes along with it. I resisted. I stayed in the cave. It was where I needed to be. Healing; wholing. Filling up the cup and taking care of my infants.
Life has started to call me out, though. Last summer I dipped my toe in the water of action. We beached, we traveled, we parked, we barbecued. We were active, and I was not miserable in the heat for the first time in many years.
This year, Spring is moving with gumption and is pulling me with its siren song of Living.
This year I will not just not be miserable.
This year I will be joyful in action, in heat, in the living with plants and creatures and people.
It is already happening, this transformation.
What I did not realize these past years was that I was tending my roots, creating my foundation, repairing the cracks, perfecting my vision which always flows up and out of the deepest recesses. I did not know.
I thought I was pruning my leaves, sprucing up so I'd be all set to go on and be perfect for the rest of my life. I would not have said this out loud or even quietly in my head, but deep down it's what I was thinking.
Now I know. I was sending my roots as deep and wide as they could go; preparing for growing up, showing up, and doing my part.
I was practicing the art of steadiness in unsteady waters, adaptability, and fluidity. I was learning to allow space for curvy, bending around growth rather than strait up and getting stuck growth. I was learning the art of making my way.
A couple of months ago I felt this panic creeping up--something I've learned to recognize as Braxton Hicks contractions. I was about to birth something big. Like a 9.5 lb baby big (something I did for real once upon a time).
I spent a month mourning and saying goodbye to life as it has been. Life at home with my girls, life in the cave of self-discovery which had suddenly grown far too small for comfort.
I began listening deeply for the next directions. What next? And how?
And the answers came--some like bolts of lightening and some in whispers that said with conviction, "Go Now." And I did.
And the Joy is Boundless.
Many wishes for Boundless Joy are being sent your way. Where is Spring taking you this year?
Anna Turner is the woman behind Little Hearth. She's an ordained interfaith minister, a writer, a believer in purposeful living and healing, a perpetual student, and a full time feminist mother.