I will never understand why we start the new year in the middle of winter. Nothing is new in January; it's all dead, dying, cold and generally dull. We should honestly save resolutions for Easter because I'd be willing to bet more people would stick to an exercise routine in 70 degree weather than a gym regimen in the middle of the coldest month in the Midwest (except for this winter when all winter months have sucked).
It caught me off guard to see Sweet Williams blooming yesterday. I should've expected their arrival given the nice weather we've been experiencing for the last few days, but I've gotten so used to the endless winter, I'd forgotten they would grace us with their presence at all.
I needed to see Sweet Williams. I think I needed to be reminded that all winters--figurative and literal--come to an end.
I'm still working on how that ending looks. I understand very little about forgiveness, grace or even gratitude, and I didn't know that until we were hit with an endless snowstorm. So that's where this season begins--a few steps, patches of purple-y carpet and the hope of glory.