Spring has Sprung

The window is open in the bathroom. I always open the window the bathroom when I come to Tennessee. Even when it is cold, I like to have the fresh air. I like to have the cold air hit my wet body. I like to hear the birds. I can't do any of this in South Dakota. It is a symbol of being home.

We haven't been here since my mother died. Memory creep in and then become a flood. Even after she went to the nursing home, I found it difficult to go in the room she occupied. That room, always hot because of the rising sun. Now it is cold because of her absence. I wonder what we will do with that room when we settle back into this house for good.

With a little coaxing and a bribe, my daughter Bethany will clean the house for me before I return. Too many times I have returned to a sink piled high to the ceiling with dirty dishes, trash piled to the back door and not one clean towel. It is worth the money for Bethany to clean. She is amazing. Not just because she cleans but because of the beautiful loving caring person she is. If she didn't need the money, she'd clean to make me happy and reduce my stress just from the goodness of her heart.

Coming here is hard for her though. Her three year old is delightfully busy and inquisitive. Her uncle entertained her with Oreo's and cartoons yesterday. I can hardly wait to see her and have her little arms around my neck saying "I love you Nana."

Bethany is braver in so many ways that I am. She went into my mother's room yesterday. She went and communed with the memories of her grandmother. I went to the cemetery yesterday and did likewise. My visit to the cemetery lacked the warmth of quirky sentences and that noise of delight my mother would make when she would see Maria.

My time at the cemetery was cold. The wind in Columbia was brisk enough to put a chill in the air. Seeing the date of her death engraved on the marble reminded me of the finality of her passing. My husband, his brother and his niece, cupped their hands and offered some prayers. I did not. It is not my tradition or custom.

We talked of her body facing the Eastern sky awaiting the return of Jesus. When the dead in Christ shall raise, she will be facing her Lord and Savior. I do not understand, even with all my degrees and education, this wondrous mystery.

As we traveled back to Tennessee the glimpses of spring were everywhere. I saw trees in bud. I saw some redbuds blooming. I took a picture of a daffodil and noticed it forms the star of David. There are even some daffodils left in my front yard here in Tennessee.

Even more wondrous than the glimpses of Springs, I bathed my thoughts in the cross yesterday. Oh the wonderful cross -- can we ever understand it? Can we ever fully embrace it?

Likewise, today I will await the resurrection. I live in what my Christian History professor who is Russian calls the MiiiiDdle Ages. We have lived in the time between the first advent and the second for centuries now. We celebrate the beginning of the reign of the Kingdom of God, where Jesus is our King tomorrow. We celebrate His victory over death. We remember He is the first fruits and our resurrection awaits.

Just as sure as there are daffodils every spring in my yard. Just as sure as there is a Spring, Jesus will return. I am waiting with great anticipation for that day.