Nothing happens by itself

It begins with a small step. A gentle and tender movement towards what is good, still imperfect and vulnerable, like the velvet catkins now appearing on the willow branches. At this time I can lose myself in a desert where it feels safe, where I do not have to move. In this space I can hold and comfort myself, but the longer I wait, the more restlessness creeps in. Life is asking something of me.

I may choose life. My new life. In the waking light I see clearly where I hesitate. The first step is mine to take. For in spring nothing happens by itself, not unless I consciously choose it. That feeling of abundance comes later, in the fullness of summer, when I have shown my commitment.

If I choose nothing now, nothing unfolds in my life. That is a hard, painful truth. Our culture has grown so hardened and individualistic that the natural impulse of spring can paralyse me. Taking a leap alone is terrifying. When things go well, I get to take all the credit. Success is, after all, the fruit of my hard work and excellence. But when my life takes a turn, I have only myself to blame. So it is tempting to stay where it is safe and familiar, shielding myself from a sense of failure, while others seem to be doing just fine.

Break in order to grow

It takes courage to take the leap. To that end I empty myself, a messy and ugly process in which I give my body and mind the space to shed the unnecessary. During Lent I come face to face with myself. Frustration, anger and grief rise to the surface. What remains is a hollow emptiness, vulnerable, broken and raw. This is the fertile ground in which new life can work with me. Life and death work closely together, at once breaking me down and bringing me back to life.

But it does not stop here. Do I dare, vulnerable as I am, to take a small step? A first step towards my intimate longing, tender and young as it may be? In doing so I show that I am willing to fail, to be disappointed, to be rejected. The possible pain this brings pales beside the safe yet lifeless dwelling in the familiar.

Now as the approaching equinox brings darkness and light into balance, I invite you to take a first step. For no one can take that first step for you. But when you ask for courage, life walks with you.