I love all four seasons, but here in Michigan we have a fifth season. We refer to it as second winter. If you don’t know what that is, it’s when you think surely (surely!) winter is almost over; and then a whole ‘nother winter starts, but this time without Christmas lights. I’m a big fan of sweaters and boots and reading by a fireplace, so I don’t complain as much as most, but even a second winter is too much for me. So as you can imagine, by the time we hit anything faintly reminiscent of spring, we are very excited. People will wear shorts and sandals and rave about the balmy weather when it hits anything above 50 degrees.

It reached into the 60s here last week and I found myself sitting outside drinking an oat milk miel latte, feeling like there was hope in the world once again. It was glorious. Springtime naturally turns my mind to newness and growth. This winter has been particularly hard on my writing. I felt frozen. Unable to thaw out any good ideas. Like standing before my freezer looking at unappealing chunks of chicken and ground turkey. Not appetizing! Sure you can take them out, thaw them, cook them up and add spices, but it all just feels rather . . . uninspiring.

As I sip on my honey cinnamon froth, the sun is shining on my face and some far-reaching branches from the artisanal planter behind me are attacking my hair. I turn around to confront my assailant which turns out to be one of my favorite branches (What? You don’t have a favorite branch?). Mine is the pussy willow. Lovely pink and yellow blossoms surround tall sprigs of this small cat-like tree known as the pussy willow. The silvery grey, fuzzy catkins (. . .could that be any cuter?) remind me of a sweet childhood memory.

When I was young my dad would take my sister and I to pick pussy willows every spring. There was a spot down the road from the farm where we would select branches. We would point out a favored limb and he would nip them off with his pocket knife. We would take them home and put them in vases around the house. The pussy willow will always have a spot in my heart.

The pussy willow is one of the first plants to bloom after winter. Let me make that a bit more dramatic: after second winter! We are all so ready for something new. We are sick and tired of cold and wet and dreary times. Bleakness has ruled not only the days, but our minds. And just when we start to give up hope, we start to think—this is it, this is life now. Then something so unique, like the pussy willow, starts to blossom. But new hope is fragile, it’s shaky and unsteady. But God knows that we are on shaky ground after a hard winter.

Has your faith been tested this year?

Have you felt really tired?

Too cold and numb to go on?

I know I have. I have tried to stay steady in my faith. I know God is big. Bigger than my fears. Bigger than my doubts. Bigger than my loses. But I have felt stilted. Unable to grow. Just a bare branch on an icy day.

Then spring comes. And there is a tiny bud of hope. The sun comes out and melts some of the ice. Limbs we thought had perhaps died over the winter start to stir. Our minds soften to the idea of something new.

I’m creating something new says the Lord:

“Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43:19 kjv

God, in His infinite wisdom, knows that our little buds of hope need a fuzzy coat to stay warm—like the pussy willows dressed in their little silvery grey jackets. New hope is very fragile and a sudden frost could kill the buds, if it were not for their outerwear.

So what is our outerwear against a cold snap? Because as anyone who lives in Michigan knows, there is always another cold day tucked right in between a row of pleasant days. We have hope and joy, inspiration and promise. We have banished the big puffy jacket to the back of the closet and . . . surprise, it’s 30 degrees out! This very thing actually happened to me today as I came back to this piece. I started it on a sunny and beautiful day. Yes, I will write again. There is hope. Then cut to a few days later: me driving to school in a white-out snow flurry completely aghast. What?!! Didn’t see this coming. But I should have.

We need to dress our hope in protective wear until it matures enough to withstand the elements. For my writing, I need to think there will be days in the sun where everything is easy, the words flow like brewing coffee, and I just have to catch it in my favorite typewriter mug. Other days it is cold and everything is hard. The coffee is bitter and turns my stomach, my favorite mug is in the dishwasher, but yet I still need to write. I still need to push forward.

It is like this in our faith. Some days we feel God’s presence. We have a song in our hearts, it’s a time of revival and newness. The branches that seemed stilted are suddenly sprouting new buds of joy, peace and long-suffering. God is using us to bless others, we are workers in the kingdom. The words of the Bible are alive, speaking directly into our lives. These are glorious days. Days with color and fragrance. Like a spring-time garden.

But then there are the dark days. The days it feels as if God has disappeared. The Bible seems antiquated and for a different time and place, confusing at best. We feel a heaviness like the clouds are low and about to pour out cold drizzle on our little fire. These are the days we need the fuzzy coats of the pussy willows. Something to keep out the chill, of yet, one more disappointment; to ward off the mist of a depression we can’t understand, to keep us from going back to frozen, back to numb, back to winter.

How do we get this jacket that the pussy willow comes by so naturally?

What lessons do our little fuzzy friends have to teach us?

The pussy willow doesn’t worry about the weather, they bloom in their time, trusting that God will equip them to come to full blossom. How often do I think that I know best. This isn’t a good time for me to start a ministry. I can’t move there. I can’t speak to that person. Yet, God says He will provide. But how do I know this? I know this because I have read His Word. Why does this so often not feel true? Usually, because I confuse my wants with my needs or I think being uncomfortable is reason enough not to move forward. The pussy willow would never bloom if they looked at a weather report. They just trust in that soft layer of fuzz - their protective “coat” - from their heavenly Maker.

Traditionally, the crocus is seen as a first sign of spring. It’s meant to symbolize hope. Their purple and white flowers pop up in my lawn every year, and I love them; but I always know I better enjoy them while I can because they are not going to make it long in Michigan. These are lovely, tiny little flowers that have no staying power. Just like these little beauties, I want my hope to be pretty. I want to collect it on a sparkling day and put handfuls of eye-catching bouquets around my house and hand it out to my loved ones. But this type of hope is fair-weathered and easily shaken.

I want my hope to be like the pussy willow. Sure, it’s not exactly pretty, but it is interesting, textured and hardy. It is soft to the touch but hard underneath. It’s not showy, but it has a promise of something more to come. It’s appropriately dressed for the weather (something mothers love).

Is your hope wearing a jacket? Just know that it’s going to thunderstorm, snow, hail and one day reign fire from heaven (see the Book of Revelation for details). We zip up our spiritual jackets when we read the Bible and spend time in prayer and worship, so our faith will not cool off and risk freezing.

How often do I think I’m better because things are better. It’s a nice day; I had a sweet word from a friend; I like my hair today. Yet, my hope and joy cannot be in these temporal things. And like the weather . . . my looks, my relationships and my work will have its ups and downs. There is only One that I can count on.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. Hebrews 13:8 esv