Waiting for Spring Rain

Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains. You also, be patient. Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand. (James 5:7–8 ESV)

Winter is frequently a difficult season for my family.

Three years ago my dad’s older brother, a brilliant and talented composer, died rather suddenly of brain cancer. My extended family struggled to find closure from several states away.

Two years ago my grandmother tried out an assisted living facility over the holidays. She refused to accept the risks of living alone with dementia and insisted upon immediately returning home.

Last year we endured two weeks of temperatures in the twenties without a working furnace. We borrowed space heaters from one of my husband’s coworkers and placed them strategically around our home while we argued with the HVAC company owner about the faulty installation of our new system.

And this year? Well, we had lice.

My almost-seven-year-old brought home the nasty head-infesting insects from her first-grade classroom just in time for winter break. I got lice. My five-year-old got lice. And my hair-gel-wearing husband stayed lice-free. That lucky you-know-what was spared from the bug plague.

I used over-the-counter chemicals that didn’t work on our region’s “super” lice. I combed. I laundered everything in hot water and tumbled it through a hot dryer. I eventually found a homeopathic salt spray that killed them. And then, two weeks later, much to my dismay, we found them again.

I used the salt spray again. I laundered and dried everything over and over again. I combed and picked nits and then picked nits some more. I thought I was going to lose my mind. I grew anxious and depressed at the thought of never conquering this tiny, elusive foe, of losing control of the situation. I struggled to have faith in the midst of my frustration.

As usual, I was sick of winter by early January.

This time I tried to cheer myself up by fast forwarding to spring. I cut my own hair. I took a trip to the beach. I pulled down my snowflake décor and created a floral wreath for my front door. I painted a wall in my living room Nantucket blue and took down the tired red-and-green curtains in my dining room. I watched “Tidying Up with Marie Kondo” and attempted to declutter every room.

But I couldn’t rush the shift in seasons.

Spring finally emerged here in Texas at the appointed time, as it always does, and with it came warm sunshine, cool rain, and new growth. The end of winter marks the beginning of rebirth and refreshment—for plants, for animals, and for people. (But hopefully not for lice.)

The Old English verb springan means to “leap, burst forth, grow.” Like a spring of water bursting forth in a parched land, the spring season offers the earth a much-needed dose of light and refreshment after a cold, dark winter of hibernation and anticipation.

We spring forward into Daylight Savings Time. We spring clean our houses, our schedules, our diets, even our social media. We prepare our hearts, bodies, and minds for renewal.

We wait for the spring rain and sunshine in the struggle of winter and then soak it into our parched, yearning souls when it arrives. We shoot up like tender budding plants, ultimately producing precious fruit like joy, peace, and patience as a result of our suffering.

A month after my uncle died, our extended family came together in Texas to celebrate his life, and then his daughter—my cousin—met the love of her life and moved to Texas two years later.

Soon after my grandmother returned home, her driver’s license was officially revoked. As a result, she decided to move into assisted living near us indefinitely.

Our furnace was ultimately replaced by the HVAC company at their expense, and we never took having a warm house during a cold winter or the kindness of a coworker for granted again.

Eventually, we conquered the lice, and I realized that all the extra vacuuming and laundering helped to relieve my horrible dust allergies.

The goodness of spring comes after every challenging winter. God redeems every hardship in his careful timing. And in each dark season, I gain patience, wisdom, gratitude, and a stronger faith.

Spring rain arrives after every parched winter.

Dear Father, thank you for springtime—for the rebirth and renewal and refreshment you provide the dormant earth each year. Thank you for our annual reminder of your faithfulness. Please produce precious fruit in us after each difficult winter. Amen.

Scripture for Reflection

They waited for me as for the rain, and they opened their mouths as for the spring rain. (Job 29:23 ESV)

In the light of a king’s face there is life, and his favor is like the clouds that bring the spring rain. (Proverbs 16:15 ESV)

Reach for More

How are you establishing your heart for spring renewal? What struggles did you face during this (figurative or literal) winter that are still awaiting redemption? What struggles have you already seen God redeem that proves he is faithful to bring spring rain?

Lauren Flake writes about her journey as a wife, mom to two little girls and Alzheimer’s daughter in her native Austin, Texas, at For the Love of Dixie. Her first book, Where Did My Sweet Grandma Go? was published in 2016. She thrives on green tea, Tex-Mex, and all things turquoise.

Photograph © Aaron Burden, used with permission