It’s early spring in Wisconsin. The forest floor is beginning to show through the snow, and in the cities, the snow is almost entirely gone. Open water is appearing on the lakes. I heard a Sandhill Crane the other day.

Looks like we made it through another long winter. People in mild climates often have a hard time understanding the true spiritual weight of spring in the north. The nearest analogy I can think of is the onset of monsoon rains in the tropics: we’ve survived the harsh season—now comes the time for living.

I love the winter—probably more than most of my friends and neighbors. But in the north, long-term survival hinges on the return of spring. Which means the procession of the earth around the sun. It’s humbling. It’s a memento mori—a reminder of our mortality, our limits.

God has preserved us. Thanks be to God.