In the last two weeks the dogwoods have bloomed and are already beginning to lose their glory. The vibrant white is now faded to a pale pink and slight winds bring down petals at a time. All winter long, spring has seemed so far. And now spring seems to be escaping me and I am longing for summer. It is a terribly beautiful thing to be confronted with the fickleness and discontent of my own heart. I want, I want. I want what is next, whatever seems to be the best thing, whatever is just out of reach.
In grad school it has been the next break, the next semester. This season feels too hard, there is too much. Surely the next will be better/easier/more fun. And in the looking forward, I'm missing what's right in front of me. It's so simple and yet I fall into it again and again. But I can't bear wasting these few and precious moments. I can't ignore the pink twinged petals of the Lord's promise of life after barrenness simply because I want the new and clean, the perfectly white petals. I want to seek beauty in the less than perfect. I think that maybe, just maybe, that's the whole point.