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A Change of Seasons
Of course, I never liked winter weather when I had to live through it 3 months each year. It was just cold and miserable and depressing. I hated having to scrape my car every morning before venturing out, or needing to set the alarm for 5am on weekdays to check to see if the kids would be home for a ‘snow day.’ And I dreaded the dozen mundane ‘chores’ of the season, everything from salting the sidewalk to doing laundry non-stop to keep up with 3 kids-worth of jackets, sweaters, socks, scarves, hats, mittens and other various implements of winter clothing. Living in Arizona, I do my grocery shopping in flip flops in January, and I honestly can not remember the last time I wore a coat. The lawn stays green, as do the cacti, and the palm trees look no different in December than they did in July. The driveway is always clear, the roads are always open, and much to the chagrin of my kids, there is no such thing as a ‘snow day’ here, so I never have to get up early to check if school will be in session. Our lives are devoid of frigid storms in this place without snow, without ice, without the bitter cold that was synonymous with ‘winter’ in days past. But just as there’s no winter out here, there’s no spring either. All the signs we used to watch for in the waning days of February — purple and orange crocus poking through the last snow, chubby robins pecking at the thawing grass, a once-desolate hillside suddenly exploding with yellow daffodils to announce the arrival of springtime — are just as absent as the icy roads and frozen fields. And thus lacking, too, is the unique joy that comes from knowing we’ve weathered another winter and come out the other side into the sunshine. Missing now is that renewed appreciation for budding trees and buzzing bees and a thousand other signs of spring that simply radiate against the dull contrast of winter’s gray. My children sense it, maybe even more than I do. There’s just something instinctive in the human heart that recognizes the rhythm of the seasons and remembers the promise of spring that follows the misery of winter. It’s the same inborn knowledge that reveals to us the value of sacrifice and reassures us that while we’re suffering, God is preparing a beautiful reward. It readies us for the many ‘little winters’ our souls will experience throughout our time on earth — the sickness or economic hardships or disappointments. And, too, it strengthens us for the harsh storms and ravaging blizzards of pain and sorrow that leave us feeling as bare and battered as the skeletal trees of late January. Even then, spring is waiting. It’s there, just beyond the frosty horizon, warm and welcoming and sweet — just as sure and solid and true as the promises of a loving father to his children. In this ‘winterless winter’ of our lives, I keep reminding myself and my children to remember the cold and the lessons it teaches as we eagerly anticipate the reward of eternal springtime. |
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Copyright 2011 Miles Jesu. All rights reserved. | |
Over the past few days, I’ve gotten at least a half dozen calls and emails from family and friends back East telling me about the latest spate of wicked weather. They’re enduring record low temperatures, massive amounts of snow and ice and a lingering grayness that chills the spirit as well as the atmosphere. Meanwhile, I’m living in Phoenix, where the natives don parkas and fur-lined boots whenever the thermometer dips below 50 while the local weather forecasters bemoan the nasty ‘cold snap’ overtaking the desert. And as I sit on the patio in a T-shirt and shorts listening to my loved ones’ dire reports, I feel a strange mix of guilt and relief, tinged with an undercurrent of melancholy knowing those icy challenges are no longer part of my life. 