Journal entry. March 20th. First day of spring. Lower mainland, B.C.
Good day, diary. Good day, Lord. And good day, Spring. After our record-breaking cold Canadian winter, you鈥檙e more welcome than usual, even though you鈥檙e late to your own party. I travelled two provinces in order to catch your entry as you slipped into Canada鈥檚 west coast. Frankly, you surprised me.
Usually when I come to this part of B.C. in March you greet me with cherry blossoms, dandelions, and greening grass. Not so this year, although I did spot crocuses on a morning walk. And ducks paddling in a pond near my sister鈥檚 house. I forgive you for the missing buds and glorious displays of magnolias, daffs and snowdrops, though. After all, back in Saskatchewan, friends and family long to see even a smidge of green. They haven鈥檛 shed their boots for the last time. Or their coats or snow shovels. I can almost hear those shovels from two provinces over, scraping decks and driveways, dispensing leftover dirty snow piles with energetic tosses onto lawns and streets.
I鈥檒l fly back home next week, Spring, but I鈥檒l watch for you with a thousand eyes. In a few weeks, I鈥檒l cheer when you finally reach my part of the prairie, greens ablazing. You鈥檒l gallop across our flat land, lifting winter-weary hearts, muddying up fields and gravel roads. You鈥檒l fire up farmers itching to get on the land. You鈥檒l frustrate parents and teachers of small children who insist on splashing in puddles and flooding their rubber boots. You鈥檒l coax people off couches and into nurseries to salivate over bedding plants and saplings. You鈥檒l tempt employees to call in a sick day and lure homeowners onto ladders to clean windows and gutters. You鈥檒l even prompt dog-owners like me to pick up the remainder of their pup鈥檚 now-exposed backyard piles. And my goodness, the birds! What an orchestra we hear at Hope House when you arrive. Geese performing their spring flypasts. Woodpeckers drumming on metal flashing. Songbirds tussling over birdhouses and singing the mornings in. Earlier every day.
But while I鈥檓 here in B.C., watching as you make your slower-than-usual entry, I鈥檒l thank God for this time. For leftover vacation days. For my sister and brother-and-law and their welcoming home. For daily visits with Dad at his care facility. For reconnection with people I love. And for time to breathe deeply of life away from my prairie home.
Father God, the world is full of big and hard things. Needy of you. Confused, wounded and angry. But today I lay fear and worry aside. Today, on this first day of spring, I sing these words...
This is my Father鈥檚 world, and to my list鈥檔ing ears, all nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres. This is my Father鈥檚 world! Oh, don鈥檛 let me forget, that though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet! ( Maltie D. Babcock.)鈥�
