I wrote this last year in February. Now in the warmth of summer, it seems a little holier-than-thou. In the warmth of summer, having lived through that cold winter, I'm not thinking about God's changing seasons one bit! I'm just dreading the coming chill. Ninety-five degree days? Bring 'em on! I'll take flip-flops over mittens any day.
Tuned In
This has been one of the most grueling winters I’ve ever experienced. Growing up in Maryland, I remember far tougher, chillier winters than what Kentucky has delivered. And I’m sure anybody that has lived through a Maine or Minnesota winter deems a Maryland winter as positively balmy.
But this year is different and as I wait for Spring, literally on the edge of my seat, counting the days, hoping the groundhog was wrong, wrong, wrong, I find myself more in tune with the seasons than ever before.
How can this be? I moved from the suburbs to the city. Nature is even further away from city dwellers. That is what I always believed. But tell that to anybody that lives in an old, drafty house downtown. Suddenly, the cold of winter is more than just an inconvenient visitor, it is a partner, the new member of the team. It moves in through the windows, the doors, the cracks in the bricks, and it settles in all around you, eats the best chips in the bag and takes the last Coke. It’s always in the bathroom when you have to go.
“Ah, yes. Thanks for providing a space for me, dear friends. Thank goodness for you people that own old houses.”
In December we did what we always did. Turned up the thermostat. We didn’t know how expensive it is to get winter to leave your drafty old house; that he only leaves after first clearing out your bank account. When the first power bill came, I almost swallowed my tongue! I could have spent a week at the beach, off season, for that! Bought thirty-pairs shoes. A new bed. A new TV. I wasn’t in the mood to be holy just then, but I’ll bet I could have fed an undeveloped village for a month or more.
We turned the heat down. And guess who showed up right away? I swear the blighter was just sitting by the door waiting.
He butts his cold nose in everywhere too.
I shiver myself warm beneath the frigid covers at bedtime; I wear socks and slippers and a fleece sweatshirt; we use a space heater in one room; we listen to our kids complain. At first it was especially hard, but we’ve all found something out.
You really do get used to it.
Sixty degrees isn’t as bad as it once was. Winter is here, but we’re learning to live with him. But that doesn’t mean we can’t wait for him to take a hike and let the lovely Ms. Spring come for a visit. It’s been dark, it’s been cold, it’s disrupted our times and spaces, but because of all that, each one of us is looking forward to the warmth of the sun, the color of the flowers, the new grass, like we never have. We hear the music of the seasons, and because of our house, our location, our life, we have no choice but to respond.
In our old house in Maryland, we turned up the thermostat, kept our car in the garage, and other than running from the car into school or church, winter didn’t touch us too much. The very nature of our existence, everything carefully designed for our comfort, insulated us from nature itself, from hot and cold, from the seasons God has ordained.
But now we play a part, the tips of our noses chilled, our hearts expectant. And I think of spring like the coming of the Savior and pray, “Come quickly.” For the first time in my life, I not only want the coming spring, but at heart level and skin level, I need it.
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