🍀 The Way: A Slow Unfolding

Lent, St. Patrick, and the Yes-And of Spring

This week, we’re living in the yes, and of spring—the tension of what is and what is still becoming. Lent's now-and-not-yet mirrors the season's slow unfurling, where new life stirs beneath lingering frost.

In times steeped in conflict, fear, and division, we remember Saint Patrick—not for shamrocks and green beer but for the truer part of his story.

A captive turned missionary, he returned to the very place of his suffering, not with bitterness but with love. His life was one of faithfulness in uncertainty, courage in the face of opposition, and a refusal to let fear have the final say.

As parents, as people trying to live with integrity in a fractured world, what does it mean to embody that same steadfast posture? To model a faith that is not rigid but rooted?

May this week be one of reflection as we journey further into the Lenten season and hold the tension of yes, and.

Borrow this Prayer

Lord, be with us this day, within us to purify us; above us to draw us up; beneath us to sustain us; before us to lead us; behind us to restrain us; around us to protect us.

- St. Patrick

The Yes, And of Spring

From the Spring Introduction of Every Season Sacred:

Perhaps no other season so clearly highlights the cyclical, transitional nature of the created world and our spiritual lives. Like God's Kingdom, it's both now and not quite yet.

Spring's beginnings are messy here in the Midwest: snow melts into slush and then morphs into mud puddles. Daytime stretches longer, but we still send the kids to school with snow boots and gloves.

The church calendar also reflects this messiness, inviting us to enter into a time of reflection and repentance as we observe Lent (the forty days leading up to Jesus' death and burial) and—finally!—His resurrection.

The tough part about spring is that we don't get to skip the mess and go straight to the celebration of Easter.

Just as the daffodils and tulips and cherry blossoms take time to burst forth, we, too, have to take time to sit in the messy, muddy middle space.

Photo by Allison Wopata on Unsplash

When my husband and I were teens, we were in an improv acting group together. One of the key rules of improv is to reply, “Yes, and...” to your fellow actors.

Spring is an offering of yes, and.

Yes, we can shed our winter layers and spend more time outside—and our kids will track muddy footprints inside right after we've mopped the floor.

Yes, the tiny buds are bursting forth into glorious blooms—and we're sneezing from pollen allergies.

Yes, more daylight is emerging—and sometimes it seems like the gray skies will never leave.

Amid a backdrop of muddy boots and rain puddles, spring unfolds and pastel blossoms unfurl, reminding us that, in Christ, we are invited to be new creations too.

In Jesus, God brings “all creation into harmony once again” (2 Corinthians 5:18, FNV).

We can journey through the fasts and feasts of spring with hope, holding tight to this promise: “The Great Spirit has chosen us to represent him in the sacred task of helping others find and walk this path of peacemaking and healing—turning enemies into friends.” (2 Corinthians 5:18, FNV).

Together with our children, we are being changed, from the inside out.

God is with us in the tension of wondering if winter will ever fully leave and if summer will ever fully arrive.

During Lent, we're invited to tend to the soil of our inner lives so we may have growth and new life.

Beneath the surface of winter, the miracle of spring is already in preparation; the cold is relenting; seeds are wakening up. Colors are beginning to imagine how they will return. Then, imperceptibly, somewhere one bud opens and the symphony of renewal is no longer reversible. From the black heart of winter a miraculous, breathing plentitude of color emerges.

John O'Donohue, Irish teacher and poet

A Prayer for St. Patrick’s Day

Christ, walk with our children.

Be present in every step and stumble.

Christ, go before our children.

Show them the way to follow in truth.

Christ, walk behind our children.

Guide them and protect them.

Christ, linger in the heart of everyone who thinks of our children.

May our children radiate love and compassion.

Christ, be on the lips of everyone who speaks of our children.

May our children’s hearts beat with mercy, compassion, and truth.

Christ, be reflected in every eye that sees our children.

May our children show love to all they meet.

Christ, be in every ear that hears our children.

May our children sing anthems of hope forevermore.

from To Light Their Way: A Collection of Prayers and Liturgies for Parents

The Slow Unfolding

Lent reminds us that transformation isn’t quick. We don’t leap from winter to spring overnight, just as we don’t move from doubt to certainty, sorrow to joy, or struggle to peace in a single breath.

It’s tempting to rush ahead—to reach for resurrection without walking through the wilderness.

But if we move too quickly, we miss the way God is already at work in the waiting, already preparing new life beneath the surface.

Saint Patrick’s story is one of perseverance in the face of tension. His life reminds us that we can trust the slow, steady work of the Spirit. Patrick returned to the land of his captivity not because it was easy but because love compelled him.

He chose to plant seeds of peace in a place where he once experienced pain.

And isn’t that the invitation of this yes, and season?

To notice where love is stirring.
To sit with what is unfinished.
To believe that renewal is coming, even if we can’t see it yet.

As we navigate these in-between days—the thaw and the freeze, the hope and the uncertainty—may we remember that we are being formed.

Even in the not-yet, God is making all things new.

Year of Breath

Keep reading for Lent breath prayers for the week, a new Lent playlist, guided reflection questions, a simple Lent practice, a breath prayer phone wallpaper, and a benediction.

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Breath Prayer

Monday

INHALE: Even in the wait,