What to Do With Spring's Wild Joy in a Burning World by writer Margaret Renkl (NYT, Mar 7), was the luckiest find today. For weeks, ever since that fateful Thursday when Vladimir Putin anointed himself God, I have pondered the disconnect between my life and the scenes I see playing out on the news: caravans of Ukrainian families on foot, children in strollers, pets abandoned; explosions, rubble, death. I suspect most of us feel helpless this spring. Just where do the boundaries of ethics lie? What risk/benefit analysis can we apply without guilt or shame? Every day I am grateful these decisions aren't mine. It is Lent and evil has been loosed. Europe has been there before.
Then today a respite, Margaret Renkl's beautiful words. First she describes March. "Cue the waking insects," she says. "Cue the flashing bluebirds, swooping." "Cue the fox," "Cue the hard brown buds, waiting all through winter . . . ." Since I too live in the South, I am right with her. Out my door are early woodland violets, arcing branches of wild yellow forsythia, dozens and dozens of Lenten roses. Renkl says we don't deserve a March like this because we humans are destroying our home. She doesn't mean Vladimir Putin but all of us. I understand. She's right. Planet news, when we really listen, when we believe--as we must--is as scary as any war. Armageddon can be anywhere.
"I am in love with the mild light of springtime even so," she says. "With all you are, listen for the hum and quiver of the waking world." Yes, I answer, I am doing this. I am inspecting everything. Leaf mold, tender greening moss, crocuses and daffodils of course, lavender hyacinth, bright unfurling hydrangea, whatever perennial makes itself known.
But then she says what really draws me to this article:
In this troubled world, it would be a crime to snuff out any flicker of happiness that somehow leaps into life.
Isn't that absolutely true? It's not whether we deserve the joy of spring. It's already here. It's here to comfort. It's here as a cradle for our cares.
We know the difference between curing and healing. Fresh growth in the forests on the Polish border where the Ukrainian refugees come--or out my door--won't banish the need for freedom or the hunger for peace. But it can help repair and strengthen our minds and spirits. New life, whether rising from the ground or held snuggled in our arms, helps lift depression and gladdens our hearts. It reminds us what it means to be human. Let us respect that and rejoice. Nina Naomi
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