What puts (or keeps) a spring in your step?
What helps you experience flow?
What do you do that prompts bubbles of joy to float to the surface of your life?
I knew one word wouldn’t cut it this year, so I’m playing with words again.
I started January with Create Happiness. That didn’t make January a joyride, but it helped me think through some issues and put some new, at least revised, guidelines in place.
February’s renewed focus on Connecting once again resulted in loneliness (Connect was my 2018 word, and it stunk). For now, I’m sticking with tried-and-true mutual friendships.
March blew in with a soggy, wet mess as a ridiculous amount of rain drenched Northern California. The rest of the country also had its share of unusual weather (thanks, global warming!), but NorCal is my reality. Through the darkness, I cast about for the right word, something that would get me out of my own funk, something playful and inspirational, and pounced on: spring.
Even though spring won’t officially begin until March 20 this year, as soon as I said it aloud, I knew I’d found the right word. Spring is coming, so it’s hopeful. Also, Lent (German for spring) began on March 6, the season in the Church calendar when we observe the service and sacrifice of Jesus, so it fits that bill as well.
Playing with spring makes me laugh. It’s unlike any word or discipline I’ve chosen before, and therefore feels novel.
I want to keep a spring in my step, both physically and emotionally. Which means I need to get up on my feet and move (gym time, dog walks with Guy and friends), and it keeps me mindful of what I put in my mouth that might weigh me down. I’m also aware of what I put in my mind, via books or screens, social media, even conversations that take a wrong turn, so I don’t slog through the muck and mire of unhappiness or worry, gossip or anger. Feeling springy on this clear-sky gorgeous afternoon, I hopped on our front yard swing–perhaps more swing in my seat than spring in my step…
I want to flow like a spring. Not like a dry summer creek bed or a muddy winter torrent, but light and easy, conscious of healthy boundaries as I bring life to dry places and parched creatures. I flow best when I’m reading good books, both fiction and non, and when I’m writing regularly. I flow best when I take care of myself: sufficient rest, hydration, and time alone and with God to recharge. Our church has a Lenten focus on Sabbath, prompting renewed attention to what a life-giving rest might look like in my life and our home.
I want living water to spring up in my soul. I hear Sunday school songs from my childhood: “Spring up, o well, within my soul / spring up o well, and make me whole…” (Numbers 21:17) I think of the woman at the well, to whom Jesus offered living water so she would never be (spiritually) thirsty again (John 4). And during my Ash Wednesday personal spiritual retreat, I came across Isaiah 43:13-18 in which God encourages His people:
“Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
19 See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.
In these uncertain times, on days when I’m more inclined to stomp than spring, I can drink deep from God’s spring of fresh, clean, living water, then lie back and rest as He floats me through the wilderness on His own currents.
