Published at Family Christian.
In my house, Easter does not mean new dresses — it means the replenishment of khakis, as every year finds us with three boys sporting pants that reach only to their calves. And then begins a series of mind dominoes: when I check the calendar to fit in that shopping trip, I remember we need to make a reservation for Easter brunch. When I check our availability, I notice how our spring weekends are already dotted with sports commitments. When I see our busy weekends, I note the need to encourage our boys to mow on weekdays. And that’s when I remember we need to get our mower fixed.
Tell me, do you do this too? Because with each new spring comes not just blossoming beauty but also the comfort of our traditions and a litany of musts — the baskets we fill, the family pictures we plan, and the flowers we plant all compose the familiar, lovely chorus we call spring.
It’s not surprising that the more spring seasons we experience, the more we think we know what’s coming.
Henri Nouwen observes this phenomenon more eloquently than I, saying, “…we allow our past, which becomes longer and longer each year, to say to us: ‘You know it all; you have seen it all, be realistic; the future will just be a repeat of the past.‘”
As we enter this season of pretty pastels, this may sound like a somewhat melancholy observation, but let’s consider its gentle caution: When we enter a season we think we know, we can miss seeing what’s new.
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