Jesus. He knew.
We. These souls who can so easily worship the warm. We want the happy. Laughter and watermelon. Apple pie and bare feet. And while these are gift, we can't live for 84 with a chance of soft rain.
Jesus is a God of seasons. He is The Lord of journeys. These Growth roads leading us home. To the heart of His Father.
Lately my life has been spastic. Challenges and to-do's, worries and "trying so hard's". I told some friends just this morning that I am tired. I have this odd craving for winter. Normally I love it thru January, and then I whine my way to May. I want my colorful birds. My flowers dancing roadside, carefree and hopeful. Billows of Kansas storms...building His majestic right over my farm. Warmth feels like hope doesn't it?
Cold boxes me in. Walks are shortened if not possible. Birds migrate. Flowers fade. Green goes brown to grey. Nature quiets to this holy hush. My children get restless indoors, and my motherhood patience is challenged. Trips to town are planned around coming snows or icey asphalt. Boxed in. This hedging up of my ways.
Winter stops my running. Stone cold in its tracks.
It's exactly what I need.
Seeds fall from full flowers and must go into the pitch to find life. Birds have to migrate over hundreds of miles of cold, seemingly lifeless, ocean. Trees shed and pull into God rhythm.
God knows we have to feel the cold, see the black to remember.
He. Alone. Is Life.
I can chase lemonade. Trips to the park. Picnics in cozy, hidden nature places. Jaunts to friends or beaches. Sprinklers and hummingbirds...Zoo's and patio seating. I can chase these temporary soul warmers for awhile.... Then reality. God still sends the cold. The pitch.
I have felt like this screaming child. Lost and so tired. Like life's hard has turned me survivor. And in the midst of all of it, I am fighting to make sure everyone else is ok. That they have hope and feel cared for. But inside I have exhausted. And I secretly want someone to run up to me, capture my weak, and hold me into ok. But I have to keep being mommy. Supportive, brave wife. And kind friend. And while I love all of these positions of grace and gift... We wonder sometimes don't we? Who will hold me?
So what does that heavy have to do with winter? This....
A sweater.
I want Him to warm me. I know I can't stop the cold from coming, the petals from falling, the birds from leaving. But the emptiness I feel when all color fades makes me turn toward home. Toward the only fullfiller.
Jesus.
Sun in my heart sky, warmth of heaven and my earth skin. See...I want Him to come grab this tired and screaming child in me. To swoop in and hold. To whisper to me that it's gonna be ok. That He is here now. That I can rest from bravery and let Him stand on lookout post. I want to fall asleep with Him humming me calm. With Him singing me safe.
And I won't be at this place, until my running is hedged up. Till my summer is taken.
Maybe I am stubborn. Maybe I am stupid sheep. But when it's warm I can chase and almost catch my happy. These gorgeous distractions of color and hope. And though I do find Jesus in His amazing warm season... I am referring to me amongst the summer souls. Winter fleeing, love chasers. Me. Lost in distractions to survive the hard things. And that? That isn't ok.
Sometimes the hedged up winter way, is Love.
In the first Beatitude ( Matt. 5:3 ), Jesus says, " Blessed are the poor in Spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven." In the original Greek the word poor can also be translated as: helpless, fallen, begging.
Blessed are the helpless.
Blessed are the fallen.
Blessed are the begging.
For theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.
My soul feels the begging. Like a tired, worn soul with outstretched palm. My soul feels weak. A bit like the falling. And helpless? Yes. In many, many things. This beatitude? Please! Because whose soul doesn't want His heaven....
So if you are a summer soul too, don't feel your happy is leaving. Closed doors can mean a safe place. A mellow cabin with cocoa to warm with Jesus in. A sweater that says you don't have to be the muscle anymore...The brave and surviving. Sometimes we can't hack it. And it's ok to stop spinning. We are His children. There is no shame in wanting a lullaby.
I do.
So I am walking into the house. Letting Him close the door. We will watch the leaves fall and the snow become blanket. He and I, by kitchen table and soft light.... Coffee in hand and long talks to be had. His care in the cold. True warmth. Hope's sweater.
Put on some socks and a favorite hoodie... True warm is coming.
Welcome winter. Show me my King.
