The snow falls softy and lightly, gently covering the brown, dead earth with a clean white blanket. Gone are the leaves that the trees shed in autumn, and all the broken branches that came down last September during hurrican Irene are hidden under the fresh snow. True, it is only a thin layer that is quickly melting in the drizzle that is determined to make this day gray, yet it is beautiful to look at. It reminds me of the songs, "Oh, precious is that flow, that makes me white as snow..." and "As the rain cometh down and the snow from heaven..."
It is on days like this that make it easy to reflect on God's goodness, and also be extra thankful for my warm home, a full pantry, and a wonderful family. Yes, it is cold outside and the snow adds extra work to our already busy schedule, but it is on days like this, as I gaze out the window at the snow outside, that I am reminded of the promise that God made to Noah after the flood: "While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease." (Genesis 8:22) As long as this earth remains, God is going to allow the seasons to cycle through each year, no matter what man says about the future of the earth. The snow is just one of the fulfillments of His spoken promise so many years ago, and He will not - no!, cannot lie. He is in control of our future and no matter what happens - no matter what is said about global warming or the coming destruction of the earth - God still rules and reigns supreme and will never let us spin out of His control. Lastly, it is days like this when good memories can be made, some good, and yes, even some bad, but the fun part is the fact that one day, you will look back and smile and say, "It's on days like this when I appreciate the warm weather even more."
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It is easy to be infatuated with something, where we believe we love someone or something, but shortly after the feelings grow cold and we realize we were not really loving at all. We were simply carried away by the moment, and just as a moment is gone in the blink of an eye, so is the feeling we thought was love. That, I believe, is loving with our head. In Deuteronomy 6:5 it says, ""And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might."
What does loving God with your heart truly mean? It begins by having your own personal relationship with Jesus, and not just a "parental" relationship (meaning you love Him for Who He is and not for Who your parents tell you He is. It is not possible to ride on the bootstraps of your family, hoping to get into heaven someday. You need to make your own personal decision about asking Jesus to save you.) It means that you follow after Jesus, not because it is expected of you, but because you really want to; it means He is as real to you as your best friend sitting in the chair across the table from you. Loving with your heart means you revolve everything you do around Him and not Him around everything you do. It means you want to do what He wants, putting His desires for your life before your own, and not make Him do what you want. True heart love causes you put the Lord first and not think of Him as your last hope. He is the One you greet first in the morning and the last One you say goodnight to when you go to bed. Today, I pray for a heart filled with love and not a head filled with fleeting ideas that I think are love, but are really just infatuations for a brief time. May I give God my entire heart and love Him with my entire being. God IS love. Having grown up in Vermont, and living fifteen minutes from a major ski resort, you would think I knew something about skiing. At least I thought I did. True, I was not as dedicated as the ‘ski bums’ who lived only for skiing and went every single day of the season, whether it was 30 degrees above zero, or minus 30 degrees. I did not like skiing that much. It was exhilarating to get outside in God’s beautiful country and feel the brisk mountain air on my face, but when that wind whipped through three layers of clothing and reached to my very bones, it was not worth the time, money, and pain.
The winter after I met Joe, I found out he enjoyed skiing, though the mountains he claimed that he had skied on in Connecticut were no where near the size of the mountains we had in Vermont, and I was proud of that fact. Now he could learn how to really ski! One weekend when he was visiting, he brought his ski gear, along with some expensive gloves and thermals he had picked up for both of us to use, and we set out that Saturday for some night skiing in Bolton Valley. It was not too cold out that evening and the air felt refreshing as we rode up the lift for our first trip down the mountain. We watched the skiers glide silently below us as we chatted our way to the top, and when it came time for us to get off, we easily skied down the small hill and made our way to the trail’s starting point. I had been on these trails before so I thought I knew what I was doing. Green usually meant an easy trail, one meant for a beginner or, to be honest, someone who did not ski very often or who had not taken many lessons to know what they were doing….like me. Blue was for intermediates, who liked a little more challenge to their winter sport, with moguls and tougher terrain. The hardest trails were always marked black. This meant that danger and death lurked beyond the trees and unless you knew what you were doing, you would not attempt this if you ever cared to see your family again. Joe and I made our first run on the green trails and had a blast, laughing as we raced each other down. I cannot remember just how many runs we made that night before I decided I wanted to attempt a blue trail, one I had gone down before and figured it would be the same as before. Joe decided he would skip this trail and take an easier one down and meet me at the bottom, and disappeared from sight. “This is a cinch,” I thought to myself. “I will beat him down and ask him ‘what took so long’ when he finally meets up with me.” That is until I turned the corner and looked at the stretch of mountain that lay before me. By the light of the tall posts that lined the endless cliff, I could see gigantic moguls dotting the hill, with no place to squeeze around them. I gulped as I considered my two choices – I could take my skis off and climb back to the top and then ski down the green trail, or I could simply begin making my way down the mountain, one mogul at a time. I decided to give it a try. Besides, how hard could it really be anyway? They looked like they were just smaller mountains on top of a bigger mountain! I slowly began making my way down, only to fall as I rounded the first monstrous mound of snow in front of me. I landed in a heap, my skis twisted awkwardly, and my poles a few feet away from me. I pulled myself up, regained my footing, and began once again to attempt the next mogul, only to fall again. Like a drowning skier, I made my way down that mountain trail, falling down time and time again, only to get back up, gasping for just enough air to help me get through the next obstacle that lay before me. It must have taken me over an hour to reach the bottom, but I finally did, after pleading with God to help me make it down alive. With tears of humility, frustration, anger, embarrassment all rolling down my cheeks, I met up with Joe. Distraught with worry, he had been ready to call for help, thinking that something terrible had happened to me up there! Something terrible had happened, though I had nothing to show for it on the outside, except for a few tears and some bruises, but inside I had found that I could not tackle that mountain alone. A giant had lain before me, and thinking I was someone special and knew how to go about it alone, I had quickly found that I could not do it in my own strength. My pride led me to fall time and time again. God allowed me to finish the trail, but He had a lesson for me to learn that day. I should never attempt to try to handle the mountains alone because He wants to help guide us, showing us the right path to take in our lives. If we bite off more than we can chew, we usually find that we end up choking on our mistake, and need to ask Him to help us get through our failure. Do it right the first time and in the end we will save ourselves a lot of grief and pain. “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall bring it to pass.” Proverbs 3:5-6 Stepping outside the cabin, I let the screen door slam behind me. I stood on the first step of the small raised platform, one might call a porch, and look around. The light streaming down from the uncovered light bulb hanging by a single wire over the door did little to pierce through the heavy mist that surrounded me. I felt like I was trapped inside a tiny box with no way out. It took a few minutes, but my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness just beyond the white veil. The shadows of the trees towered over me like giants, with long twisted hands reaching out to grab me.
Quickly I climbed down the few steps and went to the beach on the left side of the cabin. A heavy, dense fog covered the lake and I could only see a few feet in front of me as I carefully made my way around the rocks behind the cabin. I inched my way to the edge of the largest rock, which stuck up like the back of a large sleeping dinosaur. I came to a stop where the rock ended and the water began, gently lapping at my feet. The damp, still air hit my face and I shivered. I pulled my sweatshirt closer to my body, the cold reaching to my very bones, as water droplets formed on my cheeks. I felt lost and alone. As I stood looking out into the vast emptiness, my mind drifted back to all the happy memories I had made on that rock, which overlooked Pemaquid Pond. I had spent many enjoyable hours wading, catching frogs, reading, and soaking up the sun’s rays on that blissfull boulder, and if I had risen early enough in the morning, many hungry ducks had come by for a free handout of crackers or bread crumbs. A small, scared voice called me back from my daydreaming and I slowly returned to reality. The thick, heavy fog seemed to rest on my shoulders like a dead weight. I felt isolated from my family and I had a strange feeling that I was suddenly the only person left on the earth. Goosebumps shot down my spine and the hair on my neck stood straight - what was that? Was there something behind me, getting ready to jump out and drag me into the mist covered water, never to return? I heard the little voice again. Trembling, I turned and saw my little sister trying to make her way across the rock. She had seen me leave the cabin and decided to follow me, but could not find her way through the fog. Unable to take the lost feeling anymore, I ran over to her, picked her up, and together we ran back to the safety of the lit cabin. The door shut behind me and I heaved a deep sigh of relief. I had made it through the dark night and did not desire to ever return to the gloom. I glanced up and saw my dad smiling at me from his chair across the room. I smiled back; I knew what he was thinking. He was the one that had sent me out in the first place! Boy, was it good to be back with the ones I loved! My dad gave me another grin and called my little brother over and told him to go outside and stand on the rock behind the cabin. The old, paint peeling porch door slammed shut as he went out. Picking up my book, I curled up in a chair by the crackling fire and settled down to read. My dad quickly walked out of the cabin and quietly closed the door behind him as he went outside. A big grin spread across my face as I heard the distant shrieks from my brother as my dad snuck up behind him in the mist. These were the best times, the favorite memories that would forever remain etched into my conscience. Thank God for family and loved ones. Make a memory with your family today. It was a normal evening as I prepared supper and one of the children set seven places around the table in our dining room. The baby whined as he clung to my legs waiting for me to pick him up and put him in his high chair. The living room was abuzz with activity as the other three children played before supper was served.
Daddy came home, washed up, and soon we were all gathered around the table and said grace. While I served dinner, I noted that the boys seemed extra energetic that evening, which is not unusual, but their continued action of boxing each other with their elbows began to grow old. They chuckled gleefully at their own private joke and finally I asked, “What are you doing?” “Chicken Boxing!” they replied as they laughed and swatted each other again, with elbows bent and arms back over their shoulders. Daddy decided enough was enough and thought his two oldest needed to get some much excited energy out before they continued on with their meal. “Okay, boys,” he said, looking very serious. “Why don’t you go Chicken Box in your room and when you are done, you can come back and finish your supper.” The boys went giggling down the hall to their room, and while we continued our meal in peace, we could hear laughter erupting from the boys’ room as they battled it out with their elbows. A little while later they returned with heated faces and sweat drops covering their foreheads. “How did it go?” I asked at they sat back down and resumed eating. “I won!” the eldest proudly announced. Somehow this did not come as a surprise. He was a tough one to beat, though the younger one never seemed to let this fact bother him. Intrigued with the whole Chicken Boxing matter, I asked them to demonstrate this new sport once supper was over and dishes were cleaned. Observing the two boys box, I realized we were on the verge of creating a major new sport! So what exactly are the rules of Chicken Boxing? It's really quite simple: first, you stand at opposite sides of the room, bending your arms at the elbows, hands on your shoulders, creating a wing-like stance. Secondly, you run at your opponent ‘flapping your wings’ and shouting ‘Bawk! Bawk! Bawk!” as you try to knock each other down with just your elbows. The champion is the one who is left standing and still shouting, “Bawk! Bawk! Bawk!” Again, my oldest won the battle as I stared in amusement as my other son lay on the floor, laughing and panting in exhaustion. It dawned on me that the key in winning was not actually knocking the other one down with physical force from the elbows, but getting the other one to laugh and fall in complete surrender. This was my kind of game; one that was fun to watch, made you laugh, and brought the family together. Who cares if we don’t become a major sport or make it to the finals? Let it be known for the true facet that it is – a way to let off steam, heal up misunderstandings, and cure any trouble that may be brewing between loved ones. Get out your ‘wings’ people, because Chicken Boxing is the latest cure-all in our time! In the end, you will be laughing so hard all your bickering will be turned into ‘bawking’ in no time. Tying heart-strings is really what matters the most. Having lived on a dirt road most of my life, I know what it means to get stuck in a rut. A rut can be a simple little groove in the road that is easy to steer your way out of, but a rut can also mean a deep pit of mud that pulls you down until you are hopelessly stuck. I learned how to drive on those dirt roads out in the boondocks of Vermont. In that monsterous green station wagon and giant Ford van, I made my way around the roads lined with dense forests with wildlife peering fearfully out from behind the trees.
Driving year round was always an adventure, with the five seasons constantly bringing about a new development. Five seasons, you ask? Yes! Listed in order there is summer, fall, winter, mud season, and spring. Here is a little sample of the hazards that each season can bring with it: first comes summer. Summertime can range anywhere from June to the end of August. The grader often comes twice a year, once in spring after the mud season is over and then at the end of summer. Between those times comes the great cloud of dust. This dust settles over all the foliage just beyond the deep gullies that line both sides of the road. The drifting cloud of dust can be seen hovering over its hidden object inside, otherwise known as the car. The victim inside the car has to make sure his windows are all sealed tight or else he will be doubled over in a fit of coughing as the choking dust claims all the breathable air. This horrid cloud of dust also hides the little pits dotting the entire length of the road. These pits, called potholes, can sometimes be deceivingly deep and if the dust has not scared the drivers away, then the loud thud of the car hitting the road as it returns from being airborn will certainly jar some common sense into the head of the driver and make him turn around and find safer ground. After summer comes Fall. A beautiful time of the year when the glorious landscape is lit up with bright colors of reds, oranges, and yellows. This is the easiest season of the year to drive on a dirt road, which tourists often find inviting as they drive peaceably along. People who actually have to work and get there on time find these slower-than-snail-leaf-peepers a little annoying. To top it off, there are the big trucks, with gun racks on the back and men with bright orange caps on their heads, slowly poking along the road in hopes of finding that big buck they had seen grazing off the side of the road during the summer. Really now, what are they thinking? That the deer will actually stand there and wait for them as they leap out of a moving vehicle, and shoot their prey without actually having to work for it? Once the dust clears from the endless creepers of Autumn, then comes the cold weather. That means snow and lots of it too. The snow is not so bad. What is horrible is the coating of ice that hides underneath all that snow! The heavy snow fills the ditches on each side of the road and makes it look very safe to drive on. I remember watching an unsuspecting victim get pulled into the deep pit without having any idea it was even there. There was that time when I was driving along in our huge blue van and I hit a rut that was hidden under the snow. I yanked the wheel to pull myself out of the groove, hit a patch of ice, and soon found myself becoming food for the gaping mouth of the gully monster. To add insult to injury, a small tree took the side mirror off the van. Needless to say, it was not a good day for me at my house. During January, there might be a thaw which gives all the residents living along the dirt road, a little breather. But along with the thaw comes mud. Each tire makes the road a little softer as the frost underneath melts and little tire lines soon become deeper indents along the road. The road is no longer dirt, but slurpy, sloppy mud. Then the big freeze returns. These endless pits become hard as a rock and not only are you sent on a ride for your life, but the bottom of your car can get pretty scratched up from the peaks of these ruts scraping your lovely paint job. A few mufflers have fallen off in the process too. Adventure never looked so good, eh? Then comes mud season - the thaw returns, this time without the fear of having the ground freeze up again. The promise of spring is in the air, but nobody on the ground can reach hight enough for it simply because they are stuck in the black, vicious, merciless mud that sucks them down right to their boots. Where I come from, there were many different roads that I could choose to take back home, but in the end, I always had to travel down the one section close to home that was like death itself. The mud seemed to rise up above you and wash over your car with sticky little fingers that threatened to pull you in and never let you go. Once the driver is safely in his driveway, he often is seen putting his head on the steering wheel as he regains his composure. The victory is always shortlived though because it is then that they realize they just have to do it all over again once they get up in the morning. After mud season comes Spring. Here is when the washboard becomes another hazard along the way - long sections of bumpy road that made you feel like you were in a washing machine, bouncing up and down for what seemed like eternity. It was there that you always swallowed your gum if you were brave enough to be chewing it under such circumstances. To top it off, there is still mud lurking here and there until the grader comes and smooths out the road, leaving huge rocks all along the way. I know this may sound extreme, but this is exactly the way it was when I was growing up. I do not miss that mud or the ruts that never seemed to go away. Yet, I find myself stuck in a new rut at times and it is just as hard to pull myself out of the rut of life. When I do not know where to turn or how to pull myself out, I turn to the One Who created me and life itself. I cannot trust in my own driving to get me out because I need to give the Lord the wheel so He can steer me through the mudseasons of life. Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. He is in control of my life. He knows all that lies ahead along the path of life and I cannot change it. I can pray and ask Him to help me along this bumpy road. Every morning when I get up I need to ask Him for strength to take me along this road, the one I have driven down every day for 36 years. He knows the potholes ahead; He knows where the pits of mud are to pull me down; He knows the ditches that dangerously line either side of the road...yet I trust in His capable hands to guide me along, to take me where He wants me to go, and lean on His wisdom and not my own. He will help me through each day and give me strength to deal with whatever comes my way. And someday, when I see the promise of heaven come to reality, I will be victorious in having driven that road one last time and I will never have to fight the vicious mud again. I debated whether or not I should say no. I did not want to deal with mud on my floors and another three changes of clothing per child. As I struggled between my own desire and frustration such a mess could bring, I asked myself, “What could it hurt?” A little more laundry never hurt anyone. A dirty floor can be washed – again.” In the end the joy of watching the children play nicely and creatively won over. “Let them be kids,” I thought. “Childhood goes by too quickly to put too many restrictions on creative play.” So, I let them dig for the center of the earth. It was a spot in the yard hidden behind a few bushes near the stream. I could see them gathered around in excitement as the oldest of the group dug with all his might. They took turns shoveling and tossing the dirt away, and slowly the hole grew deeper. I walked out to get the baby for naptime, and the children excitedly showed me their hole. My oldest was up to his waist in the muddy gap.
“Great hole!” I commented. “When you reach the center of the earth, make sure you tell me so I can toss a rope down to you so you can climb back up.” “I don’t know how to climb a rope!” one of the boys said. “Just tie it around your waist and walk up the side of the hole. You can get out that way.” A big grin spread across his face as he turned back to watching his brother dig farther into the ground. Their lively voices were full of eagerness of finding great treasures inside the earth. With each brightly colored stone that was pulled out, their anticipation grew. Any blisters that formed on their hands were ignored. It was pure, childish delight. The entire afternoon was spent in this manner, with high hopes of finding rubies, dinosaur bones, and diamonds once they reached the center. Needless to say, they did not reach the center that day, and are still working on getting the hole deeper. They did have to eat supper on the back deck that night, and afterward, Daddy hosed them down with cold water before letting them anywhere near the inside of the house. Tired and sore from their hard work, they quickly fell asleep that night. It had been a good day. Every child needs to be allowed to dig for the center of the earth. Their dreams of finding rubies and diamonds are what make children so innocent and intriguing. To the observer, the smiles on their faces are priceless and worth far more than any gems they might discover. Yes, childhood innocence is the real treasure worth finding and keeping. |
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