A few years ago, I missed spring.
Not literally — spring came and went as it always does. But I was so caught up in the busyness of life that one morning I simply woke up and realized it was over. The buds had opened, the flowers had bloomed, the trees had leafed out — all while I was too preoccupied to notice. I had missed the becoming. Everything was already there, fully arrived, and I had been too busy.
I remember the quiet sadness of that moment. That spring — that particular, unrepeatable spring — was gone. There would be other years, yes. But that one was lost forever.
I vowed it would never happen again.
This year, spring is unfolding right now. The forsythia has already had its moment — bright yellow, then gone. The daffodils are up and blooming. And if you look at the trees, you can catch something fleeting and extraordinary: the branches are blushing red where the buds are swelling, and here and there, if you look closely, the faintest green tint signals that tiny new leaves are making their quiet debut.
It won't look like this for long.
Jesus once pointed to the flowers of the field and said those words. He was inviting his listeners to look — to actually see what was right in front of them. The Psalmist wrote, "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands" (Psalm 19:1). Creation isn't just a backdrop to our lives. It is a word spoken to us — daily, freely, and beautifully.
But we have to slow down enough to hear it.
So here is my simple encouragement: intentionally notice the beauty of spring. Take a walk. Look at the trees. Find the daffodils. Notice what is blooming, and what is about to. This particular spring — this one, with its exact shade of red-budded branches and its cool mornings — will never come again.
Don't miss it.