Today is a dreary, cold, disgusting day. The wind has found the insides of my bones, and the color of the sky is laying its gray blanket over my brain. Today is a day to curl up somewhere and avoid living.
So, curl up I do, my coffee cup in hand and my computer on my lap, in a valiant effort to pretend that I am not avoiding anything. I try to do some work, but feelings of blah-ness threaten to overwhelm me. Dreariness covers my very soul, and downward spirals ensue. Avoidance of life becomes the game in my brain.
I am aware of these games, however. I am reticent toward downward spirals stealing my life from me. And, I refuse to give in. I take a deep breath, and I remind myself of this:
Three weeks ago, out of nowhere, we had a day of remarkably beautiful weather. The sun was shining, glowing underneath my skin. The breeze was floating, embracing me in its warmth and love. The air was singing its song of newness and peace.
Heather, Kate, and I took advantage;
we went for a hike with some other friends and a few dogs, through the pine grove near their house.
We meandered calmly and peacefully through the leaves of the forest floor.
We marveled in the beauty of the nature that we found there, as if we had forgotten such nature existed during our harsh winter.
We explored with awe some surprising finds.
We felt the breeze in our hair, lingering in the pleasure of it moving gently through our clothes.
We lifted our faces and drank in freedom.
And we took joy in the loveliness of sharing it all together.
It was a glorious day. We thought things were really looking up, and spring was now with us.
A few days later, it snowed.
Yes.
Snowed.
Each day following that glorious day I woke up expecting a return to warmth, only to find: cold. In my bones. For three weeks that cold persisted. Yesterday, I walked to my car as ice splattered across my face. And I've already
told you about today.
But here's what that glorious day taught me, and here's what I'm holding on to as my coffee and I curl up:
Sometimes, I think God offers us these random days--these brief moments of sunlight and warm breeze--to say:
It's possible.
And then? Sometimes, I think He takes them away.
To help us understand that, like these carvings made by bugs under cover of bark, beautiful things are always flowing under the surface of days that seem to scream "YUCK!"
And that our day of warmth will return as a season--a season we can trust has been prepared by the hard work of the winter.
To help us to trust the very basic fact that if the timing is wrong, the buds won't flourish for the long-term in the way they were intended to.
Sometimes, I think He offers this glimpse into what
will be when the hard work is done as a gift, so that when He takes the glimpse away He can look at me and say, lovingly and gently:
Baby, do you
believe?
Because He knows that believing, I can stand firm. I can look forward. I can know that there is a time for every season under heaven, and that each one serves a purpose. And I can point to the God who designed all this and say:
Glory be to you.
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