From One Season to the Next

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot. Ecclesiastes 3:1-2

In spite of the thirty-degree weather and the snowflakes drifting down from a leaden sky, it is autumn in western Nebraska. The trees are changing colors, right on schedule, and the leaves are beginning to waft their way to the still-green grass beneath the trees. As I observed today's snow shower, I couldn't help but wonder if my stunning, pink roses will last another night. As I scooted along for my afternoon walk with Jackson, bundled up in my winter coat and warm gloves and hat, I was hoping that this week's weather doesn't signal the beginning of a long, cold winter. I'm not ready!

Here in the Nebraska panhandle, our seasons seem to be predictable for their unpredictability. 

I love a long, mild fall, but I don't really appreciate the stiff, chilly breezes that often blow here. I love the changing colors of the trees and native grasses, but I don't have much admiration for the stark, bare trees and dull, brown countryside that will usher us into winter.

When winter officially arrives, more than two months from now, I will greet the first blizzard with amazement and dread--in awe of the tremendous beauty and fury God brings in a snowstorm, but anxious at the thought of making sure our sidewalks are cleared promptly and efficiently. This is not guaranteed when Bill is conveniently traveling, for business, to some faraway, warmer destination, or when Levi needs much prompting to finish shoveling the sidewalks that wrap around two sides of our double-sized, corner lot. I would just as soon scoop the walks myself, but I prefer to avoid the inevitable asthma attack that happens when I exert myself outside in the frigid air.

In February, I am always excited to get outside on those isolated spring-like days, when the thermometer flirts with 55 or 60 degrees. But February is fickle, and March isn't much better. In the late winter and early spring, it isn't unusual for us to experience all four seasons in just a week's time. 

When I have to name a favorite season, I usually pick spring, because green grass and trees, yellow daffodils, and red tulips, trump a brown landscape any day. And, of course, spring signals an end to bitter cold days, and promises balmy breezes and sunny days ahead--if we can weather the brisk gales that blow here every spring, and if we can escape the inevitable April or even May snows that often duplicate our current, October weather charade.

By the end of June, though, summer has usually settled in, with countless sweltering days capped off by late afternoon thunderstorms and, once in a while, some unfortunate hail that batters the crops, breaks a few windows, and dents every car that is caught outside, unprotected in the storm. Yet, without the summer storms, we wouldn't get to smell that heavenly rain, or find a gorgeous double rainbow on the eastern horizon.

If I could spend all of my time on some tropical island, I would be thrilled with the unsurprising, flower-filled, balmy days, and brief afternoon showers, day after day--until I experienced my first hurricane. I suppose, after a while, I would long for the changing seasons, especially fall, when the leaves change colors and float down to the ground.

And so, just like the seasons themselves, my meanderings have come full circle, back to autumn, in all its glory. I can't wait for Indian summer to arrive, the sooner, the better.

(The Lord said:) “As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease.”  Genesis 8:22