The azaleas are bursting into shades of bright pinks and corals against a backdrop of spring green. Dogwoods are blossoming using their delicate ivory petals to tell the story of Christ. New buds are patiently waiting to paint dull gray tree branches into vibrancy. Pollen is sprinkling fine yellow dust on cars, porches, houses and making its way into sinus cavities everywhere.

Yes, spring has sprung in Georgia.

Chipmunks are awake, birds are singing and life is in renew mode. Kids see the end of another school year approaching and can feel the summer sun just around the bend. Graduations in May, weddings in June and vacations are waiting in the wings.   

Yes, spring has sprung in Georgia.

When I glance in my closet, I see only grays, blacks and charcoals paired with blue jeans. It is beyond drab and so wintery I notice a snowflake falling on the Christmas sweater. Maybe I should plant a pink azalea under the racks or perhaps go shopping.  My husband votes for the azalea idea.

Yes, spring has sprung everywhere in Georgia except for my closet.

Did we not just celebrate Christmas? Did I miss a few months of living?  Why does the clock need springing forward when I just sprang it back a few days ago?   

This not-so-spring chicken has a hard time keeping up with all the renewed springing happening around me!

The seasons are starting to come a little too fast for me now. Days fly by, and I want to grab each one and hold onto its moments as if they were as precious as diamonds.   

The Masters golf tournament is this week in Augusta. I was born into the world of golf. My father was likely on a golf course somewhere with Bobby Jones when mom delivered me. Perhaps it is the Scottish DNA which propelled dad to shine his golf shoes and mom to iron her Bermuda shorts when the spring air started to float down the fairways, and a warm breeze swayed the pines.

Every time I watch the tournament in April, my mind recalls the parents who waited for the spring day when they could witness Arnold Palmer, Sam Snead or Ben Hogan hit the famed links at Augusta. 

On the wall near my desk is a framed photograph of three children all dressed in Sunday finery posed for the camera. Amy, the eldest, is 9 with a slight smile curved upward as curls frame her sweet face. Tiny Heather is 6 and happily unaware that her big smile shows off a mouth with very few teeth. Corey, with his grin and impish face, is age 4 wearing a suit with lapels so wide they touch each shoulder. It is Easter day 1979.

My three little children are now all grown, and my parents are hopefully watching their old golf heroes play on the heavenly links above the clouds in the Masters’ realm.

Yet, today spring is still being sprung in Georgia just as it did all those years ago. The same old oak with its bud filled branches falls over the same patch of earth providing shade from the Georgia heat for another generation.

I believe God sends us spring to remind us that hope is just under the surface of all things in life. And, as sure as I say I can’t keep up with it all, he is going to spring another season on me anyway. Life moves on whether we are ready for it or not and that is as it should be.   

The blessing of spring and all the beauty and joy it brings, teaches us that we can renew our hearts anytime. We can become more vibrant if we want to. We can wake up smiling with mother nature on a spring morn, or we can hide under the covers and wait for winter missing the whole dang thing. 

Personally, I will plant my azalea in my closet, dust off the pollen from the table tops, take Sudafed and watch the old oak sprout leaves. I plan on finding something new about myself daily until the day I play golf again with my parents.

I will not mourn my youth, nor the springs gone by but instead rejoice in the memories of the seasons I have witnessed and happily attempt to grab those that are flying by me now. 

Just as sure as the sun rises and falls, spring comes to Georgia with all its heavenly glory telling us to renew our lives, our spirits and reminding us to always to continue to grow.