Ready for Spring

See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.
~ Isaiah 43:8


I was sitting at a table, laptop open, poetry books, hot tea, notebook, and pen spread before me, when I saw it, a vibrant dot of light playing at my feet. Half a lobby away sat my son, laser pointer in hand, chuckling. Minutes later, he’d crossed the lobby, plunked himself in the chair opposite me, and propped up his feet. Obviously staying.

“So, what’s up?” I asked.


“Uh huh,” I laughed, and tried again. “So, tell me what’s going through your mind at this very second?

“Nothing.” Smirk. “Absolutely nothing. If my thoughts were water, my whole mind would be a desert.”

I laughed. So did he. But he didn’t move. So I waited. Watching. And the words came. The fear.

“I have big trust issues with God,” he said.

“When did it break?” I asked. “The trust?”

“I don’t know.”

“When you got sick?” I asked. “Or before?”

Tears slipped unwanted down his cheeks and he rubbed them away. Silent. He didn’t have to answer. I knew. He’s been here for awhile in this necessary place, wrestling with God, grieving what was, afraid of what is.

“I don’t think about the future,” he said some minutes later.

“Ever?” I asked.



“Because I can’t see myself there.”

And then came the truth.

“I don’t think I’ll make it there.”


It’s hard, this space between diagnoses and trying one more medication, test, procedure, surgery, hoping one more time that things will change, that he’ll get well, heal, feel good again.

My son’s situation is different from mine, but our journeys so similar. Diagnoses, months of treatment, tests, medications, procedures, and doctors by the dozens. And somewhere along this rocky, twisting, unwanted rollercoaster ride comes a hill, a place of wrestling — with God, with self, with letting go of what was, and learning to embrace what is.

I’ve stood on that hill. Been where he is, looking back at all that’s lost, changed, ahead toward a life of pain and limitations, and I? I resigned. Crawled straight into the lap of loss and lay.

A few months later, a friend asked me to describe, in words, my heart. My fingers tentatively reached for the keys, reluctant to wrestle words from the gray, yet one-by-one they formed and fell to the page, truth in a torrent of tears.

I had resigned. Given up. Lost hope. I was afraid to go on and unable to go back.

Words blurred as I surrendered, opening my hands and my heart, grieving what was, ready to accept what is. Ready to breathe and live and rejoin the dance.

My son now stands on that hill between resignation and acceptance, wrestling with God and self. Afraid.

But it’s OK. Because spring is almost here, hope watered in tears, ready to push through the grief, through those last few, stubborn, dirt-encrusted banks of winter, and burst into light. He’s ready, this son of mine, to breathe, long and deep of spring.


15 thoughts on “Ready for Spring

  1. One of my very favorite scriptures–one I cling to. Once, when walking through a stream at Great Sand Dunes National Park, I wept at plants and shrubs that had sprung to life from the stream in that desert soil.

    That son of yours–how he is being shaped and forged. Thank you for sharing his story. And yours.


  2. Your son is blessed that you are his mama. I know that place between resignation and acceptance. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you to see your son there, too, but what a gift you are to him – to hold out hope for him. Sending you love and prayers.


  3. Pamela Piquette


    Wow! Such a beautiful piece. Such a beautiful outlook and so encouraging. Thanks for sharing. May it inspire your son to look at spring just ahead. Love you!

    Blessings, Pamela


  4. Deb Moll

    Wow, I’m afraid to say more. Being still before these words and thots. Pondering them in my heart. Loving you and Sam, and believing in our very great and personal loving heavenly, yes Heavenly Father. Oh how that heavenly word has such meaning. Thank you for sharing your hearts. Wow Deb

    Sent from my iPhone


  5. Cynthia

    Being fairly new to your postings, when I read the title ‘Ready for Spring’, my mind was on winter/snow and thoughts of new beginnings, renewal and hope. I was not expecting to be invited into the personal moment with your son – the first thought I had was what Lynn wrote – ‘Oh my, sigh’ followed by what Patricia said ‘Your son is blessed that you are his mama’. Whatever your son has and will be facing, he IS blessed to have you. Your words and patience to sit beside him during his difficulties is inspiring. I’m still resisting the temptation to ‘try to make everything better’ when my kids face troubles – I learning day by day to let God do most of the work.

    Prayers for you and your son.


  6. Cindee my dear sister, I would be glad to talk to your son, all of my life I have fought against the odds and with faith overcomed them! In the military i had several injuries and fought one thing after another, I am a disabled veteran with a list of several disabilities, and even being disabled, in December 2011 I was diagnosed with MS, and the last year was pure hell, but things happen and with faith and belief we can overcome all things. Life is like that what does not kill us makes us stronger. Sorry to put it that way but life will never be easy for no one, for every well person, there are over ten thousand who are not. But I never gave up, I still played sports and have had a very blessed life, and help many others because of all the things I went through and suffered including the loss of two sons! My e-mail is wendellbrown911@ if you ever want him to talk to me , send me his e-mail and i will be glad too! Much love to you dear sister and may god bless you, your son and the rest o your family! Your brother Wendell!


  7. Oh Cindee, my heart breaks for you and your son. Literally got goose bumps reading this blog. Loved your analogy of hope watered with tears–gorgeous and inspirational. Keep the faith–sending love to you both ❤


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