The Monday after daylight savings should be national holiday.
Because it is inevitable the day ahead will be a rough one when the alarm goes off and my body is telling me it is the middle of the night and the sun rises a solid ninety minutes after me. Wouldn’t it be better if we called everything off and eased into the time change with a little grace and poise?
But no, instead we shuffle through our day with sleep lodged under our eyes and the countdown to spring break popping into our head every three minutes and consider relocating to Arizona where the time never changes.
It shouldn’t be this hard, this adjustment to a new time. And maybe that’s not what is hard. Maybe it is waking up every morning to another set of difficulties, of endless tasks, of exhausting chores. Maybe it isn’t the time zone that’s killing me as much as the overwhelmed feeling constantly gnawing at the back of our consciousness.
The winter drags on. More snow forecasted this week. The season no longer is sparkling like it did at that first snowfall. If I can’t spend my days burrowed beneath blankets on my couch I would rather have spring here, please. I would rather be through this season, this set of tasks, this sense of too much to do. I would rather skip on to a new season with all the fresh rejuvenation it brings with it.
It is hard to be present when things seem stale and sleepy. It is hard to invest in the moment when the moment feels heavy.
We pray for those physically sick, we ask that they encounter heartiness and vitality that they haven’t known for months. But what about those ill on the inside? What about the ones with drooping hearts and weary souls? Is there a prayer for the tired workers on this sleepy Monday? Is there a hope for a burst of energy that will touch within? Or are we too embarrassed to admit that maybe life is kind of hard, and maybe we don’t really know how to keep pressing through as life presses in on us?
Easter is approaching. But not very quickly. More like a tired train engine chugging down the tracks as it pulls a string of cars a mile long. We are moving towards this day of resurrection and triumph slowly, methodically, step by step, one day at a time. The days don’t speed by at this time of the year. They chug.
I want to dance through the days. I want to embody merriment and radiate joy as I go from task to task. I want to experience zeal and strength and sparkle with life as I travel through this season.
But maybe this season of lent before Easter is a little more about trudging and little less about skipping. Maybe we are meant to sit in our worn out states as we watch the days stretch out before us. Maybe we need some time to feel the weight of the world, to know sorrow, to feel burdened. Maybe it is here that we will encounter the one who bore all of this, the one who was crushed by it, who died for it.
The light of the morning that brings with it relief and refreshment is coming an hour later than normal these days. The day will dawn, to be sure, but for now I think there may be something to learn in the shadows.