Winter: Is there any good in this most difficult season?

“As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease.” 

—Genesis 8:22

Gray skies cast its gloom over me and frigid temperatures kept me captive inside my own home. The landscape, dead and devoid of any color except brown, caused me to question why anyone would like winter. Certainly I didn’t, and recently I had made that known to anyone who would listen, declaring that if I could I would retreat to warmer climates during the dreaded season.

My attitude had been poor since I threw over the page of my perpetual calendar on December 31^st and read the familiar verse, which quoted the very words of God Himself: “As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease” (Genesis 8:22).

I focused on the words “cold” and “winter” and groaned at the reminder. I knew it meant I had to endure the long stretch of months, holed up inside my four walls, with little evidence of life beyond. Nothing growing in the surrounding fields or flowerbeds, nothing green except the algae growing on my siding.

With all this negativity, I had to give this matter pause. God said as long as the earth remains, we will have seasons. That will not change. And as long as I remain on this earth, I will have to endure winter (if I can’t escape to Florida). To make the experience more palatable, even positive, I decided I needed to change. So, I prayed, Lord, if everything You make is good (1 Timothy 4:4), that must mean that winter is good. Help me to see the good in winter. I am keeping my eyes wide-open.

Queen Anne

I knock.  No answer.

I knock again. No answer.

Please let me in!

Still no answer.

I turn the knob.  It’s locked.

I bang the door with my fist.

I push.  I lean.

I press into it with my shoulder—hard! 

Finally it flies open!

And I fall

headlong into a sun-splashed foyer,

your strong arms wrapping me in

an embrace, welcoming and soothing

as warm silky bath water.

Somehow I know this is where

I belong, this is where

it all began.

My heart swells, my throat constricts,

I don’t know whether to yell or cry. 

All I know is this is what I’ve been waiting for,

my flesh craving,

my soul longing.

You link my arm and lead me down your hall

lined with long-stemmed Queen Anne’s lace,

while tiny ballerinas in tissue-paper tutus twirl

and flutter about me like attendants to

Queen Anne herself.

Your cushiony carpet squishes between

my tired toes, as you

gently guide me to an open door—

my chamber you’ve adorned with

aromatic red roses, vibrant zinnias, flaming lilies—

a myriad of colors, making my eyes

dart from side to side.

I scarce can take it in!

Red, white, blue—

your glory flag waves from the corner.

I nod back—

it flaps again,

directing my attention.

There it is!

Inviting me to sit and sway

to your music medley,

a familiar orchestra, familiar tunes,

kindred voices,

melodic highs, deep-throated lows.

My soul sings along

and the rocker lulls my spirit like

a mother’s lullaby to her restless infant.

Your breath cools my cheeks and

plays with my hair, swooping it from my face.

You refresh me with your bountiful basket of

harvest—mouth-watering melons,

chin-dripping peaches, and plump blackberries

that explode on my tongue!

Come, you beckon,

pulling me to my feet.

And we parade, arm-in-arm,

breathing in

sweet-smelling hay and

unmistakable honeysuckle—

an ambrosial blend from

your atomizer.

You lead me to the pond,

still and serene, surrounded

by lush green growth and

a single blue heron, standing sentinel.

Suddenly, a turtle pops up his head!

Concentric waves surround, and

I peer down.

There it is!

My face,

peace washing over it,

and there you are,

waves blurring

the lines between you and me,

and I cannot tell where I end

and you begin,

for you are a part of me,

and you always have been,

my dearest, closest, truest friend,

June.

A tribute to my Creator—our Creator—the maker of all things, including the month of June with all its glory and bounty—and me, Desiree Anne St. Clair Glass, who He brought forth on Flag Day, June 14^th many years ago.

Thank You Father for Your countless gifts, including the gift of rest, as is promised in Your Word, for that is most welcome by this teacher now in the month of June. Amen. 

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

—Matthew 11:28

From the Nest

“Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you.  I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”—Isaiah 46:4

Time for another coloring, I decide, examining my reflection in the vanity mirror, my silver strands decorating my head like tinsel on a Christmas tree, reminding me that I’m not getting any younger.  I wipe the sleep from my eyes.  But I can’t wipe away the wrinkles—or the knot in my stomach.

Slipping two slices of bread into the toaster, I somehow know that breakfast can’t ease the ache either.  Christmas goodies line the counter, but overindulgence isn’t the culprit for the pain.  Handmade by my daughter and step grandsons, the desserts serve as a reminder of the happy time we shared just four days prior, my tiny cottage bursting at the seams with eleven loved ones squished together on every square inch of my well-worn furniture, shreds of gift wrap and “Ooos” and “Ahhhs” flying through the air.

Not a voice can be heard this morning, though—unless you count the occasional whine from Kobe the dog, who misses them as well.

Some call it the empty nest syndrome. I call it loneliness.  All my children are on their own.  Well, almost.  My youngest is due to marry in a couple months.  Meanwhile, she’s in college—and the college bills are coming my way, adding to my already overwhelming stack of bills for her sister’s education. With the number in my household dwindling along with my finances, I’m struggling in more ways than one.

Imagine

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.—Ephesians 3:20-21

If you know me, you know of my desire to publish my children’s Christmas book, The Prettiest Sight to See:  A Story of the Holly Wreath.  You may also know that some of my friends gave me a beautiful berry-laden holly bush for Christmas last year and that I planted it in a symbolic act of faith, trusting God to bring a fruitful harvest.  As suggested, I planted the tree alongside my driveway so I would see the gentle reminder every time I drove by.  In front of the holly, I positioned a yard ornament emblazoned “Believe.”  Perfect!

Several months passed by, and without fail, each time I passed I turned my eyes toward the shrub, believing one day my prayer would be answered.  Then one day I noticed that the once beautiful plant with lush green foliage polka dotted with red was bare.  I gasped.  What happened?!  A few scraggly brown sticks was all that remained.  What does this mean, God?  Certainly my dream hasn’t died, has it?  I believed, God. Why would You allow my symbol of hope to succumb?

Rainbow Words

By Desiree Glass

The Lord is faithful to all his promises and loving toward all he has made.—Psalm 145:13

I call it a “brain ingrain”—a repetitive activity to teach a lesson, that is.  I’m not sure what Jacob’s teacher calls it, but she certainly implements it with her pupils.  Her daily homework assignments include a spelling activity designed to ingrain proper spelling of designated words.  Once a week I assist my 7 year-old nephew with his homework.  He can choose from an array of spelling activities, like writing each word three times or writing each word in a sentence.  But most often he chooses rainbow words, in which he must write each word in pencil and then trace it three times using three different colored pencils.  Sometimes he doesn’t feel like doing any of his homework.  I sit next to him.  I encourage him and coax him.  Sometimes I demonstrate the letters.  Other times, when Jacob gets tired and wants to quit, I promise rewards for completion.  Is spending time with me making a difference for Jacob? I wonder.