***

This spring season has been a true reflection of the season of my soul.

Something is not right.

It is the last week in March and I have woken up to 30-degree weather more times than I care to count. It is the last week in March and my toenails haven’t been painted yet. It is the last week in March and I wore boots instead of flip-flops, and two layers of clothing instead of shorts and a tee-shirt. It is the last week in March and my windows have been open only once all month, along with it came a short-lived whisper of the warmer days to come.

Something is not right.

For the past three weeks I have woken up with a warm body next to me. For the past three weeks I have had a lunch companion. For three weeks my boys have been sent off to school and welcomed home by more than my own smiling face. For three weeks I have received kisses throughout the day instead of my usual five o’clock morning kiss and my six o’clock afternoon kiss. For three weeks my husband has been unemployed.

Something is not right.

Just as I have enjoyed the handful of teasing days in which the temperature has reached beyond 65, I have also been savoring this special time with my beloved by my side. It is a treat we have never enjoyed for more than a few days during his regular vacation time. But as much as I have held on to those warm days and the extra attention of my man, it has been hard.

Something is not right.

I want it to be spring. I want count on it being warm every day. I want Mike to wake up at five, kiss me goodbye, go to work, and come home satisfied.

I want it to be right.

Last night I had trouble sleeping. Rain was pounding my roof and thunder was clapping its electric hands. I thought of a time when the disciples experienced a similar Friday night such as this one. Hope seemed to be lost. Uncertainty clouded their faith, and the thunder kept them from sleeping. They must have been thinking just as I have, “what is going to happen to us now?”

This morning I woke up with new hope. It’s on its way to being 80 degrees, my windows are open, and my flip-flops are on my feet.

Tears are still rolling down my eyes, and I have no idea how long I will have to stay in this upper room, yet I rejoice in knowing today what the disciples did not yet understand:

Sunday is coming.