Winter is a liar.
They say that it is possible to have all four seasons in one day up here on this mountain. Today is proof. Bitter and angry, the cold early morning bit at my fingers and nose only to be tamed by clearing skies and an unbelievably determined sun. I expect this afternoon will be glorious only to be followed by the nip of the kind of air that prevents the trees from budding. Winter will again rule in the dark of night.
Snow has been a threat for a week, but the sun refuses to let it past the mountain range. Warming the air and thawing the ground, it insists on melting the devilish flakes into drops of rain. Then it shoves the clouds back and winks at this little dip in the heights, a smiling gift to those who live so far from the rest of the world.
The ridiculous constant of change in the weather can frustrate. One never knows how to dress or when to stay home and out of winters fray. Some days it would be easier if the snow would just dump out of the sky, blanket my world and leave me without choices. But it often doesn’t, for the temperature goes up and down and up and down, seesawing until the wet is a soppy mess. I hate messes. They are uncomfortable and dirty and keep me moving to avoid what they do to my neat little world.
I wish I could order up the weather changes like a fast food meal. I would like to choose what it is and when I get it. But I can’t.
Life, also, does not allow for ordering up. Changes come at their own pace, are often filled with messes and absolutely refuse to happen all at once. I long for them but I dread them. When they come they come in frustrating spurts, one moment exciting and the next devastating.
I find myself standing at the window, cup in hand, sipping java under the steam while hoping and dreading and wanting and not wanting and weeping and wishing it was easier. The simple truth is that change hurts. It makes me have to do things differently, it upsets my mojo, forcing my mind to give to the new way despite the very real but unwanted resistance.
It’s not that I don’t want change. It’s that I don’t want to change. I don’t want the hurt or the humbling or the loss. I resist that which tears at my way of thinking, even when I know I must submit to the rending. It’s not sensible. Good change is a wonderful thing and submitting to it leads to greater peace and a better life. But the unknown of the new is a scary thing. What if the change is not what I thought it would be? What if it does not provide what I think it will provide? Oh the what ifs…they toggle the mind and keep the soul trapped in the familiar.
Still at my window, coffee cooling as I ponder my own need for change and my own resistance, I sense the God who adores me whispering to my heart…
“I know you inside and out. I know your needs. I know your fears and I know your wants. I am asking you to brave this. It will be good for you. Trust me. I am with you, and we will get through it together.”
He does know me.
His call to change is not easy, but it is necessary. I want it. Really I do.
I set my coffee cup in the windowsill and pick up my Bible. Turning to a familiar passage, I soak it in again, knowing that I will get through this--this letting go of what I have always done and changing who I am.
Be not conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind…
The ways I was taught in this unpredictable and selfish world are often wrong. Its time for transformation.
He will be with me in it.
Who am I kidding? He is not just with me in it. He is calling me to it, telling me I must walk the road and that transformation will bring me to a good place. He is master over it.
Frustrating or not, change is on the horizon
I picked up my coffee and headed for the kitchen. This changing transformation thing is going to take more than one cup.