“Sweet April showers do spring May flowers” flowed forth from the pen of farmer Thomas Tusser in 12th century England. He used his spare time to churn out poetry after noticing the effects weather patterns had on blossoming plants: I would consider him an expert on how seasons unfold and influence the renewal cycles of nature. Only in Spring could Tusser envision renewal after a cold and sleepy winter and that the buds in their infinite wisdom march to a rhythm all their own. But, I suspect the awareness of Tusser was zero that the birth of plant intelligence comes from a boss gene called Apetala 1. This gene takes weather cues, such as temperature and increases in sunlight, and sends intel to other parts of the plant to start flowering. If I could talk to Tusser he might inform me that mere observation and experience proved right his theory on the link between rain and flowers. As the centuries passed, Tusser’s poetic lilt nosedived to humdrum through the keyboards of the less poetic becoming, ‘April showers bring May flowers.’ Our access to mounds of knowledge of the genetic nature of plants perhaps turned the phrase into platitude and nostalgia as we realize now that spring showers and abundant warmth on the last gasp of winter can’t always be trusted information for the Apetala 1 to renew on a healthy timeline.
Right now, the Spring weather outside my window admonishes the flower blooms that should have waited to ‘spring’ in May, when a necessary warmth could be trusted to take care of their eager renewal. They hunker into the soil, looking dejected by the frigid winds. As I sit bundled up and sipping hot jasmine tea, I wonder: Will these optimistic blooms that were tricked into trusting an end of winter ‘spring’ in March survive or will they fall to an early demise? It gives me pause to wonder If I— a human reliant upon my genes and the patterns of nature— rush a natural process or trust in the wrong sources will it result in negative outcomes for me too?
I have a habit of rushing, even in the absence of an external stopwatch or internal thrum of nature hurrying me along. I hurry a task along and get onto the next thing as quickly as possible. If I sense a renewal on the horizon I thunder toward it, eager to leave behind even unfinished growth and fruitful projects. I understand that this scurrying to the next thing places me outside the sweet spot of living fully in the present moment, even in the simplest of activities. Yesterday in the laundry room while quickly moving the clean whites from washer to dryer, I bashed my knuckles up against the drum. Ouch. Undeterred and eager to get back to nothing special, I continued by dropping a sock, then a t-shirt onto the floor. Rush-rush-rush. I paused. I took a deep breath and exhaled the name of Jesus. Slow. it. down. When I did I could enjoy the movement of my body bending and twisting in its meaningful task. The nubby dampness of the towel on my fingers reminded me to delight in every little thing in life. The task became restful and my day took on a tiny bit more joy.
But what if the present moment sucks me down with its challenges and harsh reality? How does one stick with the tough moments until growth is complete and the time is right to move on to a new season? What if it’s not laundry or dishes or a project at work, but a medical procedure, a failed relationship or worse? I am still challenged with slowing down and sinking into those darker seasons.
Last year was indeed a dark season of health challenges for me. I did not want to deal with illness but the inescapable truth was that an early spring would not come and spark my body to heal before it was good and ready. There was a process I needed to commit to and no manner of rushing on to the next thing was going to work this time around. I prayed daily, hourly, sometimes every minute for complete healing. I diligently immersed myself into the promises of God through an intimacy with the bible, bible apps and Godly mentors. When the unimaginable lows got lower, I tuned into more passive messaging through the streaming show The Chosen. I asked God everyday to bless what I needed to heal and to block all that was not for my complete renewal and restoration. But faith blossoms at its own pace. God works on His own timing. I still tried to rush, maybe, in not seeking second opinions or facing hard truths and additional treatments. I wonder in that dark season, a winter with no spring on the horizon, if I fooled myself that I was ‘through’ and ready to bloom into the next healing season. Did I pray only then to tune out the Godly answers? Did I grow impatient and rush into hearing, ‘the trial is over and you are ready to move on?’ I rushed to bloom at the first glimpse of warmth and sunny skies rather than staying hunkered down through the fake Spring?
Renewal is a process not to be rushed. Easy as it is to poke our eager heads into the sun of the high spots, one must settle also into living in the low moments with grit and patience. Fully embracing the rain and frigid temperatures, keeping our heads down into the journey will bring complete renewal into the next season. I am sure the 12th century Tusser will agree that If we pop up too soon all hope is not lost! Humankind for centuries has carried an enduring and forgiving genetic code for renewal. Tusser and I both could experience a good God who says if we abide in him and hunker down until the faux spring and its cold showers have passed we will be rewarded—even if we rush the process and bloom too soon. We will spring into our renewal, alive and thriving in the warmth of the new season.
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