I knew it can’t be scientifically proven, but when Easter arrives later in the year, spring also seems to arrive later. So it is this year. Wasn’t it almost a month ago that bumps appeared on the apple tree limbs below my window? Yet they still have not budded, let alone blossomed.

But God, I trust, is there, in the growing, there in the waiting, which seems forever. A hard winter in some respects, or at least a long one. Lots of rain, more snow than the island’s usual vanishing trace.

Our church’s Lenten writer reminded us today of journeys into the unknown, like the Israelites in Exodus.We enter into the unknown and try to do the things we did before to overcome it, as some Israelites did in the wilderness—working more, going out on their day of rest to harvest manna and finding none. Instead, perhaps the waiting calls for more resting and pondering, less activity.

I have an idea for a story. I find it cannot be forced. Like this season, it comes in its own time.