I Never Used To Like Spring, But Here’s Why I Love It Now

Photo by Vlada Karpovich

In my hometown of Los Angeles, the land of strip malls, movie studios, and sunny skies, spring was never much of a big deal. After all, winter wasn’t, either. It was a possibility that one January morning around 3am the temperature miiight dip into the 40s, but for the most part, winter meant light jackets and pleasant weather compared to the scorching triple-digit degrees every summer brought without fail.

And so, the first signs of spring that would arrive in late March meant very little to me — maybe more afternoons in the 70s, perhaps 80s; later sunsets; a few more flowers… And that was about it. Spring wouldn’t affect much of my day-to-day life. Little did my naive Angeleno self know, this would all drastically change as soon as I moved to New York City.

It was mid-November when I moved to the city. Dark by 4pm, gray and dreary most days, and bitterly cold. And there were months of even worse weather ahead of me, at least four months until I could even dream of a mere whisper of warmth and sun and color. Weeks were spent dashing from my apartment to the interior safety of another, donning three sweaters just to make it through the day, taking extra, extra hot showers to thaw out. My southern California soul had been shaken to its core.

That March, for the first time in my life, I experienced the deep, visceral joy of the first signs of spring that I had heard so many speak of, but never lived myself. Life was being breathed back into the city I lived in, but also my body, my mind, my heart. I wanted to waltz through the park, celebrate the sun, smell the flowers. In a few short months, I had fallen in love with a season that had never meant much to me. All because I’d survived the first real winter I’d ever experienced.

A few years ago, I came across a quote by Madeleine L’Engle that, as soon as I first read it, resonated with me to the point where I couldn’t forget it: “Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light.”

Not long before that, I had started to call myself a Christian, begun the journey of believing that I had been created by the same God who’d created those beautiful daffodils I saw all over the city. Not only that, I was trying to believe that that God also loved and cared about me very much, that He wanted a relationship with me.

But I had doubts, concerns, and fears that made that difficult. Because not long before that, I had been at what you might call rock bottom. The few years before I moved to New York were, for lack of a better word, dark. Without knowing it, I was experiencing a winter of a sort — there was no light or life or hope, but instead, deep pain, weighty regrets, and emotional (and physical) unhealth. I wasn’t so sure I should be permitted join the Christian club; everyone in it seemed like much better people than I was. If this God existed, could He really love someone so broken? Could He really care about someone so flawed?

Then, I came across that quote. Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light. I allowed it to marinate in my mind. I knew darkness. But perhaps rather than allow it to have the last word, I could let that knowing foster a profound gratitude for the grace, love, acceptance, and light that God offered. I could experience spring, offered only by Him, having endured my winter.

I knew the contrast between living without Him, and living with Him, very well. And while there was a part of me that would have preferred to be less aware of that contrast, I found appreciation for the unique story that I was living out — one that could be good, despite the darkness that existed in it. My story could be one of evidence of God’s ability to transform, bring life, and make all things new.

All throughout scripture, we see God having used deeply imperfect, broken, lost people to craft the story He was trying to tell. But he didn’t simply cast them as side characters — He made them pivotal figures in His tale. From Rahab to David to Paul, it’s clear that those who knew darkness were often given some of the most significant roles in scripture. Maybe because their experiences would add something vital to God’s story, have a unique perspective on the light, make them more equipped to express the difference between the life they’d been living before God, and the life they were living after God.

So these days, as I marvel at the daffodils that have popped up all over the park, I am compelled to ponder both the physical reality and the spiritual reality of the renewal that comes through God. And I am glad for my eyes that have witness darkness, and can now more fully appreciate just how bright His light is.

That, in a nutshell, is why I love spring now.