The Distraction of Spring

I'm sitting here at my desk desperately trying to concentrate on finishing preparation for this week's message. But I've got this huge problem. Right outside my window is this amazingly beautiful day.

Oh, it's not quite Spring. Not yet. But I can feel it coming. The sun is shinging. The air is crisp but warming. It just feels... fresh. Oh, sure, the trees are still bare. The colorful buds are still sleeping. But it's almost time.

It's been so long since I experienced Spring. After spending a decade in the desert, I think we became used to just two seasons -- Warm and Really Hot. And when I arrived in Virginia last year, Spring was already exploding everywhere and quickly rushing into Summer. It was spectacular.

But I missed that sort of "dawning" of the new season -- that threshold of renewal in which the quiet lifelessness of Winter is pierced by everything coming to life once more. The sense of rebirth and wonder. The fragrance. The scintilating petals. I want to go on a picnic with my family and feel the warm sunshine. I want to pull my hammock out of storage and spend a lazy afternoon under the shadow of fresh green leaves.

I'm ready for Spring, and the window by my desk is teasing me with promises of what's to come. I'm eager to share in the complete turning of the season and the reminder that my Father is a God of resurrection and renewal. So even as I type away on my sermon notes, my head keeps turning to one side, gazing out the window, feeling the breeze on my face as my mind wanders forward a few weeks in childlike anticipation. I have no idea how I'm actually supposed to get any work done today...