If only it took a mere 3 days.

I love spring. I love Eastertime. I love how the earth (in the US at least) seems to wake back up. At home in Texas, chilly mornings usually give way to an unnecessary sweater tied around my hips by noon. The shoulders and medians on the roads become peppered with bluebonnets and black-eyed daisies and the sky itself is a different, deeper blue. Awake. All of it.

I particularly love how one morning, I can look out the same bedroom window I’ve glanced out every morning for the last 5 months, and now the view no longer reveals a bare peach tree, but instead one that’s wearing beautiful, delicate blossoms over every inch.

Like MAGIC. Right? Or maybe not.

In my experience, resurrection, rebirth, renewal – the transformative kind, the stuff that sticks and changes you at your core – well, that stuff takes time.

Sometimes a long time.

Sometimes a really, long time.

And so often for me, it happens in layers. An earthquake dislodges an unhealthy ideal or pattern and then, if I’m paying attention, I can try to lean into that. Even when it’s painful, I can decide to sift through the rubble of that internal earthquake and see what’s worth keeping and what’s rubbish. These discoveries are almost never fun, but I know if I take time to pause and reflect, I might be on the verge of real resurrection. Usually, that pausing and the hard work of pushing through pain has to happen over and over as the change inside of me moves slowly, wrapping itself around my interior with longevity at the helm.

Pain, reflection, growth. Pain, reflection, growth. Pain reflection, growth.

That Divine combination just can’t be bothered to skip over the hard bits.

I wonder if my peach tree spent all winter reflecting? Quietly, inside itself, while on the outside it looked as if nothing was going on. All the while pushing its roots deeper into the earth, changing, getting stronger, preparing to rise again…taking time to be resurrected.

I hope we all take that time.