I told my son this morning that I knew the house we have lived in for over two decades was the right house for us because we had toured it, and purchased it, in March. I said this after looking outside at the dirty piles of snow, the dark, standing water, the basically desolate landscape that is our backyard at this point in time. Earlier in the morning, I had taken a long walk and was acutely aware of all the ugliness around me. Snow that had been lovely and white a few days ago was now streaked with a weird brownness. What was that seeping through? All along the streets there were abandoned pieces of debris….soda bottles, plastic bags with who knows what in them, an envelope here, a soggy mitten there. Yuck!

I went on to explain to our eldest that the reason his father and I had fallen in love with the house is that the owners, wisely, had put pictures on the dining room table of their home taken in different seasons. They were not trusting those without imagination to see their home has it could be in spring with the leaves just jumping out of their skin to make a gentle entrance. They wanted those who walked through their house to catch a glimpse of summer, trees in full green array, flowers blooming in colorful clumps along the sidewalk. They had a desire to show off how lovely their house looked in autumn with the maples flashing red and the birches white trunks making room for golden yellow leaves. They had even included a winter scene….their home nestled in soft, white mounds of snow, a Currier and Ives scene to be sure.

But there were no photos that could have been taken in March on the table, March with its frayed sense of beauty. Make no mistake, I have nothing personally against this month. Some of my favorite people are born in March. But it can be a dreary month and can demand a certain amount of imagination to remember the beauty of winter and the anticipation of the spring that is within our reach.

As I was driving around today making my way from church to several visits I needed to make, I realized I was kind of hunched into my coat not looking at particularly anything. I just had the goal of getting from door to car, from car to door.Until something wonderful happened. Overhead I heard a sound that made me smile and look up toward the sky. A lone, wild goose was honking for all he was worth as he flew in a crisscrossed pattern in the gray and dreary sky. It felt like a wake up call to me. “Quit your gloomy mood!” it seemed to say. “Watch me flying and notice how beautiful I am!”

I was reminded of a song we sang not long ago at a memorial service for a dear one who passed from this life far too soon. It has a haunting melody that sticks with you:
“The lone, wild bird in lofty flight
is still with you,
nor leaves your sight.
And I am yours! I rest in you,
Great Spirit, come, rest in me, too.”

Sometimes our imagination keeps us from seeing beyond the gray and gloomy times that can surround us. These can be the shades of March or other life events that have created shadows on our path. Unfortunately,no one has placed photos within our sight of what was, or what has the potential to be, images to nudge us into memory or hope.

In the Celtic tradition, the wild goose is the symbol of the Holy Spirit. Today the Holy Spirit honked overhead and I was reminded once again, that even on the gloomiest of days, I am held in the Lap of All Seasons. It was a loud and wonderful reminder.