06/03/2026
Heather Mayer here! This little ditty will go out in our Around the Pond newsletter as well, but for those that are not subscribed, here is something that was placed on my heart yesterday. I'm titling it, "Spring too Soon".
It occurs to me as the sun is shining more and the air is growing warmer, that much of our inner world follows the lead of the seasons in the world around us. Even those of us who have never been diagnosed with seasonal depression will likely say that the darker, colder months make it hard for us to feel chipper and lively. And then spring arrives, and by golly we feel our souls begin to lift and flutter around in our chests, and everything feels just a little more hopeful. But what if you wake up one spring morning, and your mood doesn’t lift with the birdsong and the appearance of colorful blossoms? What if spring arrives all around, but your heart doesn’t seem to be getting the message?
Five years ago we were still in limbo with the Covid pandemic, and I was completing my certificate for spiritual direction online. It’s a practice and a spiritual art that is ideally done in person, but we got through it with the help of Zoom, and even found some beauty in learning and practicing using technology. It was late February and I had sequestered myself away in the conference room of the hotel we were staying in because the ice storm had knocked out our power so completely that we were on day 9 of no electricity. My certification program’s intensive was scheduled for that day, and internet connection was required so I could be on Zoom for six hours. I was tired and my kids were a mess being torn from routine, both of them having to spend their sixth and tenth birthdays with no power. But I plugged in my laptop, added creamer to my hotel coffee, and tried to muster up a cheerful face for my professors and classmates.
We were taking turns being spiritual directors for one another that day. Shortened, twenty-minute sessions where our professors observed us holding space for one another, asking deep listening questions, and inviting one another into the fullness of our feelings before God and in the compassionate presence of one another. It was my turn to respond to a question that my fellow student had asked me, and before I could say a word I just began to cry. We had been talking about spring and how following the ice storm, the weather had quickly turned mild and warm, the crocuses and daffodils already blooming. He had invited me into contemplation about how my soul felt approaching a new season, and I’m sure he thought I was going to respond that “yes, my soul was feeling hopeful, light, revived!” etc. Instead, my face crumpled and I cried in front of my computer screen, letting the tears fall until I could explain.
My soul was not ready for spring to come early that year. I wasn’t even sure if I was ready for it to come at all. The colors and the newness of the season felt all wrong when I considered the plane of my internal world. I felt closer to cold, closer to dark, closer to melancholy and even despair. I was grieving the effects of Covid on my community and on the world. I was mourning what my children had lost in those years, and how I hardly recognized my daughter through her anxiety and the plummet of her self-esteem. I wanted the external world to match the ache in my heart, and I felt like God had abandoned me with this sudden rush to the happiness of spring. But it turns out, simply expressing all this to my classmate/spiritual director was profoundly healing. Once I named what I was feeling and sat in the experience of it, the burden felt lightened and I felt like God had suddenly knocked on my doorstep, presenting me a bag filled with compassion and care.
If you are looking at spring becoming summer right outside your window, and noticing that it’s not matching what you are experiencing in your heart or in your mind, this is for you. It is OK to let the world move on without you while you grieve. It is alright to feel like you are still trudging through winter while everyone else is tending to a garden. You are allowed to be right where you are, and to move slowly into this season, no sooner than you are ready. Jesus modeled this with his disciples all the time, and I think in our practicality and our society’s “the show must go on” mentality that we forget that we too are allowed to disrupt the scene if it means tending to what is going on beneath the surface. Take all the time you need.
If your heart is still in a winter place, please reach out! I would love to pray with you and to be with you. The world would have us believe that we are alone in so much of our anxiety, pain, loss, etc, and it is simply not true. We are more alike than we seem, and chances are someone else feels a lot like you do right in this moment.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Matthew 5:4H
