Despite today's rain and chill, my spirit is bolstered by the hope of spring. This is a good thing, especially since I've been out of sorts for the past few days. After a spring break that was neither "springy" nor "break-ish," I returned to teaching on campus, momentarily paralyzed by the thought of how much work looms ahead during these final eight weeks of the semester.
My to-do list is downright sneering at me.
I'm reminding myself to put one foot in front of the next. (And I'm occasionally rocking back and forth and nervously humming to myself, but mostly I'm pushing onward. God's walking this road with me.)
I'm grateful for the little glimpse of warmth that we were blessed with on Sunday. We spent most of the afternoon outside, reacclimating ourselves to the yard.
Tulips are beginning to poke through.
Pale legs leaped their way across the year's first hopscotch game chalked on our driveway.
I'm itching to plan the layout of our garden and work on several outdoor projects. One night earlier this winter we were walloped with a storm that sounded like it was battering and ripping apart a large shed-like structure. Incidentally, it sounded this way because it actually was battering and ripping apart a large shed-like structure. (Our shed.) Tore the roof clear off.
The contents of the shed have been crammed into our garage since then, making this project an early spring priority. Less urgent work will be dealt with more slowly in the upcoming weeks.
New work. Fresh work. Dirt-under-the-fingernails work. I'm grateful that spring will come.