Even though we are still firmly locked firmly into our self-imposed isolation of our Covid-19 quarantine, the outside world has not gotten the message. The world is slowly arising from its winter slumber — fruit trees are blooming, grass is getting greener, and each new morning is marked by birdsong drifting on the early breeze.
Growing up in the South, I never had the experience of the bitter winters that are found in northern states, where it is common for people to be stranded indoors for long periods while snow lasts for weeks. But I still enjoyed springtime. It always meant being able to go outdoors without a jacket, earlier sunrises with time for walks before school, and the brown bermuda grass finally turning soft and green again.
My grandfather was a self-taught gardner. He could plant anything and it would grow. Springtime also meant the first tilling of the hard grapple that had formed on the soil, and the planning of what would go where. “I think I am going to plant blue lakes over here this year,” he would say. “And over here is where the tomatoes will go. They need more afternoon sun.” Carefully, like a craftsman, he would design his back yard, and I imagined how big the plants would get, and how sweet the fresh tomatoes would be, just off the vine. Inside, my grandmother had a cross-stitched picture that hung in the hallway next to the phone — “Who plants a seed beneath the sod, and waits to see, believes in God.” As a child, I had difficulty envisioning just how this hard piece of ground would become a summer garden. I had seen it happen before, but each sweaty minute of work tilling and planting seemed to take an eternity. My grandfather would till the ground, and then let me plant the onion sets or carrot seeds, and cover them up. Every morning I would dutifully water them, for what seemed like forever, with no visible results. Until one day the tiniest of shoots would break through the soil.
As we enter the 6th week of our nationwide Coronavirus shutdown, we long to savor the springtime world, but we know that the gloom of winter is not yet over. We must continue to wait, and dream a little longer, as we patiently wait for the ground to thaw, so that we can resume our normal lives. But just as the seed germinates beneath the soil long before it breaks the hard earth, we can use this time of quiet, this time of fallow to germinate new growth in our souls.
In my own family, this “stay at home” has meant more time spent being together, whether it is doing homework or watching movies, or just enjoying eachother’s company. Without meetings to go to, or soccer practices, we have been able to cook and eat together more often. And that has all been very good. It is almost as if God reached out his hand and said “easy, slow down.” I think there must be a lot of others that share my experience. And the closing of the churches has given us time to remember WHY we go to church, and to long for it with a deep thirst.
Will life ever get back to normal? Yes, it will. As Christian people, one of our greatest treasures is Hope. The Hope of the resurrection, and the Hope of springtime after a long winter. But, in the meantime, we must learn to be patient. We must learn the power of stillness in our lives. And we must learn to appreciate Hope — and to anticipate the sweetness of the fruit our lives will bear.
