Last night I had a conversation with a friend.  Among many other things, we talked about our similar experiences of loss — the devastating kind — and why it is that we both love life and find joy in each day, in spite of having lived through seemingly insurmountable challenges.  Our conclusion, put simply, was that we had made the decision to find the gifts that grew out of our sadness and make those the things we share with other people when they also are suffering and searching for meaning during difficult times.

Yesterday was the first day of Spring.  The weather here in Pennsylvania was more like early summer, and the 76-degree day was more than we could resist.  Mark and I decided to take our cameras and go for a hike on a nature preserve and along the river.  I was excited to think of all the green we would see after a long, snowy winter.  I guess a summer-like day can make us forget the calendar.  What we saw along our path was mostly the color of dry corn husks with only a dot of green here and there.  Beside the river, only a few trees had begun to bud.  The rest stood gray-black and stark against the blue Spring sky.  The ground was littered everywhere with debris — not the man-made kind, but the leaves and twigs and branches of another season.  Fallen trees leaned against those still living.  Brittle canes of last year’s wild berries stood among the new shoots that reached upward and sent out buds that soon would be leaves.  Around the base of each plant were the other useless canes, pruned by nature so that the plant could renew itself.

As I opened my camera this morning to view the pictures taken on our hike, I found this one.  It illustrates what I’m trying to say:

In the midst of the brown leaves and brittle twigs of last year, fresh green moss bursts into life and fills its spot with color.  In each place we walked, the desolation of winter was being replaced by the new life of another Spring.  There are so many things we can learn from observing nature!  I could simply say that when we find ourselves in a wintry portion of our lives, we should remember that Spring is always just around the corner.  Although this may be true, I want to say something more here; because I remember all too well that in my moments of pain and doubt, I couldn’t hear these words.

Instead, I’d offer that the trees, the grasses, the berries –all of nature shows us by example that there are things that are part of us for a time,  for a season,  that finally must be left behind.  In another month, I would venture to say that most of the leaves will have blown away or begun to decay and enrich the soil.  The green will dominate, and the dry grass will no longer command our attention.  When I see the branches lying on the ground, I think of the way they would impair the growth of the tree above if they clung to it and consumed some of the energy that allowed it to thrive.  I try to imagine the buds on the branches being able to capture the sunlight that feeds their growth if the long-dead leaves of last Fall still clung to the branches.

We are not so different from the trees.  There are experiences that come into our lives that are very much alive in the moment and very much a part of our growth.  What we need to learn is not to hold onto the parts that only weigh us down and consume our strength.  We need to let them fall to the ground so that the living parts of us can flourish.  We need to leave our raw pain in the moment it occurred, to allow anger and resentment to fall behind us so that forgiveness and renewal can flourish.  We must choose to carry with us the gifts we receive out of hardship and leave the useless wrappings behind.  We must choose the beautiful gift of life.