For those of you who live near me in the Valley of the Sun, it’s hard to appreciate the end of winter because that also heralds the return of heat. But there is much to be learned from parts of our good earth where all four seasons are so clearly evident. For those who have been shoveling snow for the better part of five months, this time of year can be truly draining. The snow along the roadsides has long been mucked up and gray with the passing of plows and traffic. The occasional Chinook wind (or whatever the warm winter wind is called by those who didn’t grow up in Monana) causes icy patches to form on back steps and spots that are normally trust worthy and snow covered…like right in front of the trash bins. This is when bad falls occur. Hips break, wrists sprain and spirits wear thin.

Like our tolerance for summer in Phoenix, tolerance for winter has a limit.

The same can be said with our tolerance for situations and for people. We grow weary of being good sports. We are tired of slogging through day after day with no hope for change. The problem is, the slogging pattern keeps us from shifting our stance long enough to gain a new perspective. Perhaps change is occurring, but we have conditioned ourselves to see the patterns and the outcomes we anticipate each day.

A walk down our Montana road on a crisp morning brought home the significance of perspective via a stand of Aspen trees. To anyone who passes by, the trees are the perfect example of winter. They are gray and bare with a few dead leaves still clinging here and there. Snow slumps against their trunks and the trees become candles stuck in the glittery white frosting of a birthday cake. It’s as if that is what it is. Barren trees, white snow frosting. Winter. 

Then, on closer examination, one can see that’s not all there is at all. But it takes really close examination. The kind that leads a hiker knee deep into snow to see teeny tiny harbingers of change. On each stark branch they are there. Thousands of them. Tight little buds. With a really good telephoto lens, one can capture the tiniest bit of sap easing from the tip of some. Spring! And if I hadn’t looked for it, I would have continued on my winter morning walk.

So it is with the other aspects of our lives. Sometimes, we brand our expectations so clearly onto people and situations, that we can’t see past our own perspective to the tiny signs of newness, of change, of a personal spring. We may be so used to a coworker’s surly response each day that we miss the time they say “good morning” first! We may miss the time the one we consider overbearing, listens, even momentarily, to another’s perspective. The neighbors with the barking dogs are also the neighbors whose dogs are quiet, but I never think to notice the moments the dogs aren’t annoying me.

We know, we know…it’s all about perspective. It’s nothing new, this business of looking for—and celebrating—the small and glorious signs of newness. But it’s important that we remind ourselves to look for it each day. In tiny little bud-like ways, goodness is waiting to be nurtured into full bloom. Perhaps it is in a corner of your heart where you are holding onto resentment or to grief that needs to be let go. Perhaps it is in a relationship with someone whose flaws have worn a well traveled pattern in your past. But sometimes, the past needs to be left behind, just as we watch the snow recede in the face of sunlight. Let yourselves open to new potential. Watch for those little signs. Let go of the hardness that comes from disappointment. Ready your hearts, and your relationships, for spring.