Why mud means hope
It may not make any sense to anyone except me. Which is entirely okay. But coming outside just now to rally some boys for some heavy lifting work only to find them emerging from the forest wearing wide grins and pants covered in thick mud….it was a glimmer for me. A glimmer of what might be some day soon.
Spring might come. We might some time, not too far from now, spend days outside, one after another. My boys, despite their glaring, enormous differences in personality, might get along with each other within the common cause of the outdoors. Though the wind whipped brisk and chilled all bits of skin that weren’t covered tight, warmer days will arrive.
It’s been a long winter. The metaphorical one and the real one. There have been many, more than normal, cold days where we’ve been sequestered to the indoors. This is especially hard for one of our kids, the one who lives and breathes all things nature. So finding my boys wielding my purple pruning sheers and pants that will for sure never be the same again, somehow this fills me with hope. Getting stuck in two feet of mud and losing a pair of boots in the process was the common ground these two needed today, even if for just one day. The mud means the ground isn’t frozen which means we’re not frozen. We will pull through. We might be messy and sure get things wrong along the way. But we will be all the stronger for it…