Apart from my seasonal allergies, this is my favorite time of year. April and May are glorious in middle Tennessee. I’m currently typing these words with the windows open as a light morning rain polka-dots the driveway. Robins, cardinals, and wrens are singing in harmony just outside, while an occasional mockingbird adds her chorus to the mix.

I recently planted a variety of annuals and perennials in pots and in flower beds, hoping and praying as I plunged my spade into the dirt that the flowers, herbs, and tomato plants would survive through August, and the rosebushes would be there for much longer.

As I added some bright red vincas to the planters on my front porch, I spied glistening trails all along the brick porch steps. They looked like snaking threads of silver. I traced one trail until I saw a tiny snail as big as my thumbnail. It was slowly and methodically making its way from one end of the step to the other. I looked away from the snail for a few minutes to focus on my task of getting those vincas in the potting soil. After I had watered everything and cleaned up my mess, I looked for the snail again. It had begun its arduous ascent up the knee wall. Even though they’re known for moving slowly it was chugging along at top snail speed.

My interactions with the snail and the flowers made me stop and think about how something can seem so gradual and unhurried—like watching a flower bloom or a snail reach its destination or a child grow up—and then it’s somehow suddenly over.

It’s like King David’s expression of grief and wonderment in Psalm 39 where he says, “Show me, Lord, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is. You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure. Surely everyone goes around like a mere phantom; in vain they rush about, heaping up wealth without knowing whose it will finally be. But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you.”

That’s the other thing about the month of May. It’s about beautiful spring weather, but it’s also about the “vain rushing about” that David described. It’s also known as the month of graduations and the start of summer weddings. Major milestones are written in bold letters in the boxes of our May calendars.

A few months ago, our 14-year old son asked me, “What’s the point of having kids if they’re just going to grow up and move away?” That’s a valid question. In the last few years, he’s been a groomsman twice and attended several graduations. In his own way, he recognized how fleeting life is.

So as I praise God for these glorious spring days and witness those that I love grow and change, I will try to notice all of the journey—the snail and the trail, the start and the finish and the race in-between. I’ll listen to the words of another psalm, Psalm 143: “I remember the days of long ago; I meditate on all your works and consider what your hands have done. I spread out my hands to you.”