To fling oneself out the front door, a winter prisoner released on good behavior, weather, whatever.
Pulling the dead things away, my hands cramp. Has it really been that long since I did something physically demanding?
I danced last night while holding a 55 pound sack of potatoes dressed in fancy pale yellow and didn't notice it...
Is it possible for your fingers to be out of shape? I guess so. I should have played more rubics cube this winter or used one of those fancy hand-squeezy thingies.
Just when the green hits the surface, I shy away from the mystery beneath. I don't want to talk about "deep stuff." I just, for now, want to marvel at the fact that after all that, something was still living.
I attempted to explain to my class the other day that you've got to clear away the dead stuff for the new growth to happen. And, yes, this is often terrifying, and perhaps one reason we hit a sort of Spring depression--life demands life, but we're still dragging tail. God tells us to choose life. I don't believe He would have bothered to mention this had He not seen us in some weaker moment, inclined to do the opposite: to cling to that which prohibits us from experiencing the vulnerable moment when we pull ourselves out of the dead-life into the open air, one out of shape hand after the other.
What am I clinging to? Mmmmm.......I thought you'd ask that.
Tune in tomorrow, and I might just have an answer.