Spring begins over our heads before we see it under our feet. At least here in northern Montana, one of the first signs of spring is the changing sky. The blue takes on a brighter, clearer tone. The clouds break up and pile into cumulous castles. The grass is still very brown. I haven’t seen much greenery poking through the soil and there’s a lot of mud. But if I look up, there is so much beauty and activity to see in the sky. I took a walk just before lunch. To the left of me was the haze of rain up against the mountains. Bright sunshine beamed down right on me. To the right there was infinite layers of clouds into the distance. The tops glistened in sunshine, the bottoms were a study in gray. All the snowy peaks were wearing gauzy, white shawls. As I turned around to walk back, I looked deep into a brilliant blue sky. The wind had turned and I picked up my pace and pulled my gloves back on. The smoke from the neighbor’s brush fire was drifting across the road. It wasn’t a pretty sight but that is why I say, look up.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill. 
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off the frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.
--from Two Tramps in Mud Time by Robert Frost

Lately my thoughts are as varied and tumultuous as the clouds. One day they plunge into the dark misty valleys, the next brushing the white mountain tops. I’m learning the valley isn’t such a bad place. Though it has it’s particular dangers, it also has it’s own hidden blooms. Mountains can drain energy just as much as valleys. What matters is to keep going through it all.

I’m reading a book about the life of Mary Ronan, a Ronan, MT pioneer. She came as a young bride and in the picture she has long lush hair to below her waist. I try to imagine the difficulties of the care and attention that hair would have taken in those circumstances. As a young girl she lived in mining camps with her parents and when her mother sent her on errands she would say, “Now run, but don’t be afraid!” And she would dash off to the store among all the coarse, gold-hungry miners. When I ponder that and all it could mean, it nearly brings tears to my eyes. Maybe courage lent wings to her feet. Fear paralyzes and hinders life. There are valleys and dangers and craziness happening all around us. Instead of voicing our worries, why not share our courage, our gratitude, our faith. God’s in control, even in the valley.

Hope is the thing with feathers-
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without the words-
And never stops at all--

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard
And sore must be the storm-
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm-

I've heard it in the chillest land-
And on the strangest sea-
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
-Emily Dickinson

I read something in our church flyer recently that is sticking with me. The article was titled Inspiration Overload and said the many sermons, songs, lectures and books available now may be good, but too much of a good thing could set us up to overanalyzing spiritual life and bring us into bondage from more inspiration than we can act on. A sermon can be a timely message for a particular group, and we can rest it in that. Tomorrow will bring it’s own inspiration as we continue walking with God. Too much inspiration is like too much work or too much food or too much research, and it only seems better because it deals with spiritual things. Yet, the author said, the effect is the same – stealing our joy in the moment, our freedom to follow the current inspiration God wants to give today. Maybe we simply need more quiet time in our minds and hearts so we can hear the personal inspiration He wants to give. These thoughts struck me as so needed in my own life.

…that the blessings we’re needing we’ll surely receive. In the fullness of this trust, we shall lose every care

‘Tis the Blessed Hour of Prayer, Christian Hymnal

This is a sampling of the my mental atmosphere lately. Poetry matches for me the intensity of weather, hopes and energies in the spring. Some days I’m strong. Some days I’m weak. Some days there’s focus. Some days all the ideas are hitting me at once. I waffle between spring fatigue and spring fever. Yet in spite of myself, God is on time with spring, with courage for the moment, with inspiration for today. Keep looking up.

–Liz