Jenny’s letter 12th April
Dear Friends,
I am really enjoying these lighter evenings and brighter days. There is something about heading out to walk the dog and realising it is still light that just lifts the heart. It is, of course, not yet consistently warm. One minute you think spring has properly arrived, the next you are back in a coat, watching the hail bounce onto the path and wondering what happened!
But even so, for me and I hope you, the light has changed everything. It feels like a promise.Not a loud or dramatic one—just a quiet, steady sense that something is shifting. The days are stretching, the darkness is losing its hold, and even if the warmth has not quite arrived, you know it is on the way.
And perhaps that is why these feel like threshold days. Days of standing in between. Not quite winter, not fully spring. Not cold enough to stay in, not warm enough to relax completely. And yet something real has changed, and you can feel it.
Last Sunday, we celebrated Easter Day. We have proclaimed, with joy, that Christ is risen. The light has come. As John writes, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:5). That is the truth we stand in now—light has broken in, decisively and irreversibly. And yet… life does not suddenly become easy or straightforward. The world does not instantly feel warm and settled. We are still living in that slightly in-between place—where something real has happened, but not everything has caught up with it yet. These are threshold days in our faith as well. We know the truth of Easter. We trust it. But we are still living it out day by day—in ordinary moments, in tiredness, in joy, in uncertainty. Not quite what was, not yet what will be—but something real and good is already underway. And that is ok.
Because the light comes before the warmth.
St Paul puts it like this: “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face” (1 Corinthians 13:12). We live in the now and the not yet—the light has come, but its fullness is still unfolding.
I find that deeply reassuring. We do not have to rush ourselves into being “fully sorted” or completely transformed. We do not have to have everything figured out. It is enough to notice the light—to recognise where God is already at work—and to trust that the rest will follow in time. You can see it all around us at the moment. The longer evenings. The small signs of growth. The sense that something is beginning, even if it is not yet fully here.
So perhaps the invitation for us this week is a simple one: notice the light. Notice it on those evening walks. Notice it in your conversations, in small acts of kindness, in moments of grace. Notice where God is gently at work, even if everything does not yet feel warm or easy. The light has come before the warmth—and that is enough to trust the promise of what is still to come.
With every blessing,
