​A Jonquil in the Shade

I have decided to exercise my God given right to whine and moan a little bit. I have had enough of winter; of sullen skies, of dank afternoons, of frigid nights and of cold-hearted mornings. With a little more time, I could come up with some even more depressing adjectives with a bit of alliteration dropped in for good measure, but I suppose that will do. I just don’t care for the darkness and the dampness of winter. Never have.     

Now I know that some folks out there love this time of year. Why, I have no idea; but I have heard of such people. They confuse me. I worry about their raising and what went wrong there.

I bet I know what it is. I bet winter is more of a fantasy than a reality to them. You know Bing Crosby, Danny Kay, “White Christmas” and the like.  I’ll bet you that they have never been blessed with the experience of having their wet hair freeze while waiting at the school bus stop. I bet the joy of shoveling a slushy sidewalk that they didn’t mess up, Mother Nature did, was never theirs. I bet slurry and slip sliding away are not part of their experiential lexicon.  I figure a few days in Syracuse in mid-winter would cure ‘em of their misguided fantasies, but I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.  Been there and done that, and unless God drags me by the hair of the head, I won’t be doing it again.

I did run across a little ray of hope a couple of days ago though. Actually it was a pretty poignant scene. Poignant in a moving way, not a distressing way.
​
I don’t remember where I was exactly, somewhere out in the wilds of Lexington County I have no doubt; but while driving, I glanced over to the right and a hint of yellow caught my eye. So I hit the brakes, backed up a bit, and grabbed my old camera in the hope of capturing the beauty found in a field of some not so clever jonquils.

Now before you say it, they weren’t daffodils. They were jonquils. I could tell you the difference if you don’t know the difference but ink, paper and time won’t permit it. Just give me a call, if you’re interested, but I digress.

It was a nice sunny morning, cold as a well digger’s rear end in January, but pretty nonetheless. The sun was on the rise, so the decrepit old house resting on the little swell threw a shadow over most of the field; but just beyond the edge of the shadow’s twilight, a few glimmers of yellow caught my eye.

I didn’t see any “No Trespassing” signs or barbed wire, so I got out of the truck and took a walk across the old field. As I drew closer to what remained of the house, the darkness thinned and a glorious meadow filled with young jonquils emerged from the shadows and brightened my world a bit that morning.

I knew they were early, and I figure they knew it too; but they had to try, and I thanked them for their effort. I did. I actually thanked them aloud, right there in front of God and everybody.

You see, they had done me a great service that morning. That faint dash of yellow reminded me that out of the darkness and chill of winter, life will always recur. It might come in fits and starts. A late winter’s blast may cause a brief retreat, but in time the beauty of nature and the work of God’s hands will once again emerge victorious. From death comes life, and behind every shadow a light remains.  

What we don’t know tends to frighten us. What lies within the twilight often gives us pause, and beyond the twilight and into the darkness only the courageous few will venture.  It is in the darkness, however where the mettle is tested and the faith is honed. Trusting in the shadows is where standing in the light is born.

Be one of the courageous few, and you will discover that winter lasts but for a season, while the love of God will never fade or fail.

God rewards the dauntless as they face the shadows of life, and there are many, with fearless faith. Remain focused on the Light, even when shadows obscure, and your faith will not go wanting.   
​
Amen 

---