Americans have given March the nickname, “It comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.” This is because, in the midst of its ever‑changing weather—when a sudden cold wave sweeps in and makes all creation shrink—spring breezes quietly slip through.

For a while, the warm wind had coaxed the tulip leaves in the parsonage yard to sprout in fresh green. But last week’s sudden snow and hail buried them all beneath a blanket of white. The bare branches, coated in ice as though dressed in crystal, seemed to boast the fading beauty of the departing winter kingdom.

Yet even in that blizzard’s bitter cold, my heart kept wanting to run toward the wide fields and mountains, because spring was on its way. The tender willow buds blooming by the stream despite the chill, the water trickling between sheets of ice, and the bright pink azaleas smiling between dry branches and rocks—all these arrive as a fresh shock to those of us who have endured a long winter.

When I was young, on days when the spring breeze blew, I would always see an elderly woman standing in front of the school, selling yellow chicks packed in a box. Her sun‑darkened face, marked by years of hardship, and the tiny chicks just hatched from their eggs brought spring to the children pouring out of the elementary school. I longed to hold the wonder of their little chirping lives, and when I finally carried one of those fluttering creatures home, I felt as though spring had filled the whole world.

Spring is the season when life stirs more vibrantly than in any other. It melts what has been frozen, loosens what has been bound, and removes the heavy outer garments we had layered on. It is the season of a green revolution. After the pain of change and the years of patient endurance, the Creator God takes up His brush and paints the world with brilliant colors and fragrances, pouring out blessings through flowers and trees. In this season, the resurrection of all creation and the resurrection of our Lord Jesus come together in days of celebration. Yet to welcome this season of joy, creation had to suffer greatly, and Jesus had to pass through death.

Spring is approaching us even now, and I rub the eyes of my soul to see whether my spirit, too, is swelling with longing for spring. I remember the days when my body and soul felt frozen, as though I were the heroine of a long winter kingdom—days lost to emptiness, depression, and fear of the future. But in those dark and cold days, the spring wind—the fragrance of Christ Jesus—blew into my life. He stripped away the old, foul‑smelling garments of my sin and clothed me in bright, light, beautiful colors. My once‑frozen soul began to taste freedom. I realized how heavy the stains of my sin had been, and how light I had now become.

My beloved, as we welcome this spring, I pray that the fragrance and vitality of spring will also enter your soul. You once told me that even thinking of a certain person made your heart tremble and your blood pressure rise—that you didn’t even want to hear his name. I will never forget how your face flushed and your eyes filled with tears. You were hurting, yet you seemed unwilling to seek healing for your wounds. I want to ask you: were you perhaps refusing to welcome the springtime of your life?

The winter in our lives must eventually pass. The seed frozen within you must now be buried in the soil. And you must entrust it completely to the breath of God. Do not rush. Wait quietly, in stillness. On the day when gratitude rises from your lips, you will become the protagonist of spring and sing. On every branch of your life, radiant blossoms will open their joyful faces to the world.

My beloved, let us open our eyes and ears to the sound of spring approaching. Even in the cold that attacks like a lion, the trees are busy drawing water, and the frozen ground is being pushed aside by the green life beneath it. Soon, our winter will leave us like a gentle lamb. It is time for us to entrust our bodies and souls to the waves of spring. Let us open the window, run toward the fields where birds sing and sprouts cheer, and allow the warm heart of spring to forgive us, embrace us, and make us bloom.

My beloved, let us go together in search of that fragrant spring.

— Yoon Wan‑Hee, 1999