There is a spot near my work place that I call my "thinkin' spot". Just a matter of blocks from the office is the church I attend and they have a lovely pond with a fountain out front. On really stressful days, you can find me there with a couple of tacos just watching the water and the geese and dodging the mulberries that drop like rain from the tree in the corner of the lot. I don't know... there's something about the water and tiny little bit of nature that's calming on a difficult work day. But while most of the scene rarely varies, the seasons have a definite impact on the view.
One particular day in the dead of winter, I went to my thinking spot with my tacos and enjoyed my lunch in the chill of the cloudy day. It wasn't particularly beautiful to park there - the fountain was turned off, the geese all had the good sense to find a warmer climate and the trees were as barren as a spinster. Nothing fruitful remained. Still I sat in the silence and took it all in. Then I noticed a rather large birds nest in the farthest tree. One I'd never known to be there. A squirrel's nest was also visible that had been well hidden by the leaves only weeks earlier, and still another nest above me that reminded me why I never park in that particular spot.
"What do you know?" I thought. "I'd have never known any of that was there, if it weren't the middle of winter."
Winter is like that. Everything hidden is revealed. Everything tucked away out of sight is suddenly on display. Seasons make us see the same scene in new ways. Not just physical seasons - seasons of life do the same. Sometimes we need the harshness of winter to see what might otherwise have gone unnoticed.
I'm writing to you from the early days of the corona virus; and it would seem that the world is finding itself in the middle of an economic and social winter. We're all hunkering down (or we ought to be for the sake of others more vulnerable to illnesses). All the fresh growth of the markets have shriveled and fallen and the warmth of friends and family nearby is for another day entirely. All this barrenness is revealing all the things we've hidden. Everything is being stripped away, and there's nothing to hide our nests of insecurities or stockpiles of lesser loves. We're seeing who we really are. Our current climate is revealing our souls and there's nowhere to hide even as we socially distance from one another.
I've been challenged, personally to evaluate the "enough-ness" of Jesus. (Forgive how awful that is grammatically for the sake of the idea.) In a season that seems cold and bare, I have to ask myself, "Is He enough?" When my hoard of toilet paper dwindles, or when I feel an odd tickle in my throat (I swear is only allergies), when I'm forced to stay home for days on end with only technology to remind me that there are other people on the planet, when eventually, God forbid, I lose a friend to this illness and can't get to them to pray over them or comfort them or even walk with them to the edge of this reality before they enter the next one - when any of that is true, will I say that the presence of God is enough? That His peace is my portion? That His joy sustains me? That nothing compares to the glory of knowing Him and being known by Him? The truth is, Jesus IS enough, and we might never enter that reality if we weren't brought to a season when He is all we have.
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| Photo Cred "Guide to Iceland" Facebook page |
The good news, my friend, is that seasons change. The dreariness of winter gives way to new life budding from every branch and stalk that once lay dormant. But while winter remains, be a noticer. Notice things that barrenness reveals in you; and more than ever, notice opportunities to love each other well and be a glorious Bride. Spring is coming, but winter has its own beauty.