The complexity of Spring 

(Photo by Cheryl Dawn, A Year Ago while pregnant with Charles)

So much has happened to me in the last four years. Life has changed drastically. There are big moments of impact and tiny choices. But without a doubt, life looks very different. Like spring and fall you couldn’t mistake the colors. 

And I’ve changed. So much so, that I wouldn’t recognize my old self in the mirror most days. I find it quite beautiful. As if my life is a reflection of the first days of spring. Things coming to life. Banks of snow that cloud my vision melting away. It’s quite strange how death brought me to life. Death didn’t bring joy. But it taught me how to find the beauty amidst pain. It changed me. 

Some days I ask myself who I am in every season. The earth is always round. What is always true of my character. Who am I? I’d like to think my biggest strength is my honesty with who I am. My honesty and transparency with the people around me. And for a rare few, they find this as my biggest weakness, labeling it blunt. Either way, it’s remained. As have many others qualities, quirks, and desires buried deep in my soul. The ones that define my very being. But yet, death has shifted so much. If it could be shifted. It has. Or at least it feels like it. 

I’ve been learning so much. My eyes are open in a way I’ve never experienced. And I question if life will throw me other curveballs that will open them further. I feel at any given moment there are thousands of things racing by in my head. And I find myself longing for my partner to fall asleep talking about the complexities of life with. To talk about the seasons. 

And while pirates and cars bring me so much joy. And deep in my being lies my identity as a mother. I long to express what God is doing. What’s going on. And I feel like a volcano that is seeping over. 

I find that my blog helps, writing helps. I can express even in the smallest of ways. But it’s like trying to explain the infinite details it takes for a flower to cultivate and bloom. You can tell it simply, but there is a beauty in the complexity. How do I explain the depth of how I’ve learned to be grateful amidst pain. Because pain itself is the sting that God used to rearrange things and hurts that I thought were unmovable in my being. How do I explain God has wiped views and opinions completely from my mind. That he left my core. Who he made me. But he broke and continues to break all the stuff I made for myself. 

I talk to my friends about the little things. Between cleaning up messes and making sure my children aren’t crawling out the door or jumping off the couch. It’s easier to talk simple about swim lessons, and Lego castles. Because if I even begin on my heart I may never shut up. Because This new me, this me that sees and understands things much differently wants to dab my toes into the waters. I want the world to know I’ve changed. I want to start living in this new way. Using these new eyes. But what if it’s hard. Once it’s spring, you can’t just role back the calendar to winter. To old ways of living. And What if people don’t see it or understand it. What if what feels like a flower to me, is just a hopeful weed. And if I talk about the heart, the core, my very own may come undone. Because then all this change becomes real. 

Right now the ideas, the shift lives behind my identity as a mother. Some people call it “mommy syndrome.” And while I truly desire to spend every single minute of this lifetime loving these beautiful boys. My children can’t stay up into the wee hours of the night and talk with me on what true brokenness looked like. The paradigm of life and death.

And what if after all this pain, there could be even more? Because living in my heart means allowing it to shatter once again. And I feel I have so much to offer the world, so much I want to say. To be heard. But what if no one wants to hear it. 

One of those truths I’m learning is that true joy comes as I love those around me and let them respond in their own ways. That the beauty is being me, regardless of how others respond. So I want to pour all of it out. I just want to lavish in these truths. I want to be so much of who Gods creating me to be. And so much less of what I created for myself. Sometimes it feels like a secret I lay awake thinking about. The gift I hold, just waiting to share. So excited because it’s who I am becoming, yet so anxious because it’s who I am becoming. Because if you share it all, the potential is its all not good enough. 

I rest in the fact that Spring is always beautiful, long awaited. And only those who love winter are bitter about its arrival. 

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