Springtime is, hands down, my favourite time of year. It’s symbolism of new beginnings, the burst of colours and crisp, fresh air fill me with much hope. To me, nothing sings spring is here better than when the cherry blossoms come out to play. My heart literally throws a party of its own.
Having successfully guarded my heart from the darkness of COVID-19 over the past few weeks, yesterday the reality of its more insidious effects finally caught me off guard.
You would think learning that there were 43 cases (the highest concentration in London) in a nearby borough would throw me, but no. Finding shop shelves empty of staples like rice and pasta for three days in a row didn’t do it either. Even having to traipse miles to a wholesale supermarket to excavate the suddenly much treasured toiletries, I found, if anything, rather philosophical instead of threatening.
I walked into my quirky, cozy local coffee shop of herculean persona, where human chatter and laughter made the perfect backdrop to its dancing pink lights and whimsical hanging garden of wisteria and umbrellas, to find it sparse, cold and strategically repositioned for social distance. That’s what got to me. As hard as I tried to stop it, my mind couldn’t resist racing away along the trail of potential social and economic harm this pandemic could leave behind.
Mildly comforted by the warmth of my almond flat white, I braced myself for a melancholic walk home. As I turned around the corner, I looked up and there in front of me, was the most beautiful sign of spring, standing defiantly in all her radiance willing me to look up in awe. There it was again, HOPE, in all its springtime glory.
I looked up and saw a crown of beauty instead of ashes. I was reminded that this too, shall pass like the sparse trees and dark winter months that came before it.
In the meantime, I’m going to embrace the sabbath and rest in the shadow of the Almighty. He is my refuge and my strength, my God in whom I trust.