The Eternal Spring, or, Reflections on an unwarm easter

Will winter ever end?

I looked out my window this morning (after sleeping in till 10 – delicious!) to see a light blanket of snow across the blossoming tree just outside. It wasn’t the 2 inch “disaster” predicted by the nincompoops at the National Weather Service (I don’t know what institution of higher learning gave those people degrees, but eeish) – but it was snow nevertheless, a week into April. Not exactly Easter weekend weather, in the opinion of this Southern Californian.

If I could have stayed holed up in the townhouse all day, that would’ve been one thing. But I had to do laundry, drop off a bag of goodies at the Salvation Army, get my hair trimmed, and pick up a few remaining necessities for Easter dinner. When I was running around my complex getting my laundry done, in my uber-stylish Republican Victory Strikeforce sweatshirt and cherry-red pajama pants this morning, I was cold. Being that fully clothed and still freezing in April is unacceptable. Later in the day, while carrying groceries and a bouquet of flowers to the car, I nearly lost the bunch of blossoms on account of the sub-freezing wind whipping across the parking lot.

If this was, you know, Christmastime, I’d be perfectly fine with wool coats and scarves being a necessity. But I have a brand new Ann Taylor Loft dress to wear for Easter tomorrow, and I’m afraid I might become a Leeanncicle if I wear it. Sigh.

(For the record, if I was in charge of any congressional committee with jurisdiction over global warming, I would find some way to force Al Gore to stand outside the Capitol building for twenty four hours straight for this Easter, and then on Monday come in and tell us all about global warming. Can you do that with a subpoena?)

In any case, I don’t mean to complain so much, especially during Holy Week. I guess this bipolar weather is a good microcosm of the frustrations of this life. A guest preacher a few weeks ago described us Christians as having one foot and winter and one foot in spring. It’s no wonder we long so for consistency, for the eternal spring. Even the most stunning beauty here is muted, frosted with sin or temporality, as through a glass darkly. I suppose not even the most clear, temperate, glorious Easter Sunday in D.C. would be worth comparing to the great celebration of the resurrection that will someday occur with the Guest of Honor Himself.

But in the meantime, tomorrow – rain, snow, wind, or sun – we celebrate our Lord’s resurrection. (With chocolate.)

Can I get an alleluia?

He is risen!