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Not Quite Sprung

As I write this, Spring seems to have arrived so far in name only. Like most of you I am waiting for the brighter days and few green shoots to be accompanied by warmer winds and the earnest budding and blossoming of growing things. Half in and half out of season is no way to live.

Normally, I would be defending the in-between time. You may have heard this sentiment from me before – that there is fruitful and important work to be done as one thing ends and the next is still waiting to begin. The place where the river meets the sea is always teaming

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with life, after all.

But not this time. No, even I am tired of the cold. Winter, like an unwelcome guest, has lingered too long in the house. The last of its defenders has given up. Time to make way; let us hope that April does not live up to T.S. Eliot’s title – March, this year, has been cruel enough. Let April be the kindest month instead, and bless us with a little bit of warmth.

Every time that I have met some stranger in the past week or so, we have talked about this. How weary we are of the cold, how hungry we are for an earnest Spring. It is common enough, easy enough, to chat about the weather. It is the very epitome of small talk. But it is so common because it is an experience that we all share; one of the few things where folks can easily agree that we are all in this together.

Sometimes, and perhaps this happens for you too, I catch myself focusing too hard on the things I cannot change. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot

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that I have control over: my own choices and actions, the collective decisions in which I already have a say, and all the big and little choices made by people I am connected to that I have the chance to influence. I have a voice, and sometimes a vote; I have chances to show kindness, speak the truth, and work to make things better. That can change a lot, but not everything. The wind doesn’t ask my permission to blow, and however hard I try, I don’t expect

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it ever will.

Since the cold, for me, is only an annoyance, I can pull my scarf more tightly around my neck, and dig my hands a little bit more deeply into my pockets. And if it’s not too harsh at that moment, if the sun is out, and I can hear the birds overhead, or see the crocuses by my feet, maybe I can afford just a little thanks. Thanks to a too-long Winter, for reminding me to focus on the things that I can change, and thanks to the people I share the world with, for being here to commiserate about the things that we cannot.

In Faith,

Rev. Kelly Weisman Asprooth-Jackson




First Parish Church

225 Cabot St

Beverly, MA 01915


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