I think the thing about Easter holidays in particular is you

In the gentle yet profound words of Kate Garraway, we hear a truth far deeper than its simple surface suggests: “I think the thing about Easter holidays in particular is you don’t know what the weather’s going to be like.” At first glance, it seems a light remark about the skies and seasons, but within it lies an ancient wisdom — a reminder that life itself is as changeable as the wind, as uncertain as springtime. The ancients would have heard in her words the echo of fate’s shifting clouds, the eternal balance between joy and uncertainty, hope and doubt.

For the Easter holidays mark not merely a season of rest but a time of renewal, of rebirth after darkness. It is the season when winter’s hold loosens, yet the sun is not yet steadfast. One day warmth smiles upon the earth, and the next day rain returns, as though the heavens themselves are undecided. So it is with the heart of man: when one believes all is settled, a storm may rise; when all seems lost, the light may break forth again. In the rhythm of the weather, we see the rhythm of existence — unpredictable, humbling, and filled with divine teaching.

The origin of Garraway’s thought lies not in philosophy but in lived experience. She spoke as one who has weathered both fair skies and tempest in her own life, whose days have held both laughter and loss. To her, the Easter holiday becomes a symbol of life’s fragile balance between joy and sorrow. Just as one cannot plan the perfect picnic without risking rain, so too one cannot plan a perfect life without risking pain. The wise, therefore, do not seek control over the skies — they prepare their hearts to meet whatever the heavens send.

Consider the tale of Job from the ancient scriptures — a man of faith who, in one season, had abundance, family, and peace, and in the next, was swept into suffering as sudden as a storm. Yet Job, though bewildered, did not curse the sky. He said, “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away.” In his acceptance lay a quiet greatness: the courage to live beneath changing skies without losing faith in the dawn. So too, when Garraway speaks of the unpredictable weather, she reminds us to meet uncertainty not with frustration, but with grace.

There is a strange beauty in not knowing what tomorrow will bring. For if every day were predictable, would the soul still grow? The uncertainty of the world is the teacher of patience, the forger of resilience. The Easter holiday, poised between cold and warmth, death and rebirth, becomes the perfect mirror of the human spirit — learning to rejoice not because the weather is perfect, but because life continues, and the heart still beats beneath the clouds.

Let us then learn this lesson well: do not wait for the skies to clear before celebrating. If rain falls on your feast, dance beneath it. If the wind turns cold, light a fire and share warmth with those beside you. For life’s beauty is not found in perfection, but in presence — the willingness to live fully through every season, to find meaning even when plans falter. As the wise have said, the flower that blooms in spring does not curse the frost; it endures, and blooms again.

And so, my children, when you stand upon the threshold of your own Easter holiday, uncertain of what lies ahead, remember this truth: you may not know the weather, but you can choose your spirit. You can meet every storm with calm, every chill with courage, every ray of light with gratitude. The skies will change — that is their nature. But let your heart remain steadfast, a temple of warmth amid all seasons. For the one who learns to live with the weather, learns to live with life itself.