A spring prayer for us as writers by Philippa Linton

Almond tree in bloom (Pixabay)

Two almond trees bloom outside my office window every spring.  Last year, they blossomed in late February, in unseasonably warm weather.  But they usually flower in March, before the leaf buds open fully.  They're in flower now, and have been for almost a fortnight.  I love seeing these fountains of light, flowering pink even before the trees turn green.  An explosion of delicate pink blossom against the grey London concrete, reaching up to the white sky. The first blossoms of spring, at least in London. 

Not cherry blossom: the cherries come later, around mid-April.  (In my childhood, they bloomed later, in May.  But the climate has warmed since then.)   Those two almond trees are the sign, after months of winter starkness, of new life, renewal, resurrection, new hope.

That’s what I hope for my writing.

And for yours.

Winter has its own austere beauty and its own hidden springs of creativity. As Baptist pastor Mark Buchanan says in his excellent book Spiritual Rhythm: Being With Jesus Every Season of Your Soul, winter can be a highly productive time.  The secret lives of plants and animals is hidden.  Creatures hibernate.  Trees are brutally pruned and lopped back so they can flower with even greater beauty and fertility in spring.  This is a principle true both of organic life and the spiritual life.

But it’s such a relief when winter starts coming to an end and spring starts nudging its way in.

I’m aware right now of issues far bigger than my writing – the terrible floods that have devastated homes and livelihoods in Yorkshire and the Midlands; the concerns about coronavirus; and even worse, the horrific situation unfolding in Syria.  All this, and more, can be taken up into our prayers, our activism, our living, and our writing.

And for many of us, we too seem to be living in a winter without end … or our friends are.

So my prayer for us as writers in this time of Lent, this spring, is this:

May we bloom as writers, just as those two beautiful, slender, almond trees bloom faithfully each spring.

May we put forth shoots, and leaves, and fruit, whatever the weather.

May we know our roots as writers to be strong – rooted in the ultimate Gardener, the giver of life.

May we give light, and provide shelter, and reach for the sky.

We may only be a slender almond tree, not that big oak over there.

That is enough.  The almond tree is perfect in itself.

That’s what I hope and pray for my writing.

And for yours.



I am a Reader (Licensed Lay Minister) in the Anglican church. My day job is working in the education and learning department of the United Reformed Church at URC Church House in London. My favourite writers include J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, George Mackay Brown and Penelope Wilcock.  I also love the poems of Nicola Slee, and think that Anne Brontë is as amazing as her sisters.