On the morning of Saturday, April 6, the Commander Supreme and I drove to Tuckahoe Middle School.
At nine, our granddaughter, Josie, a kindergarten student, and her teammates were scheduled to play a soccer game.
This soccer program is coordinated with the Tuckahoe YMCA. The large soccer field that sits between Ridge Elementary School and Tuckahoe Middle School is converted into six playing fields for soccer.
When we arrived, the teams were warming up. We met our daughter-in-law’s parents as they were walking toward the designated playing field. Kathryn’s parents were bundled up like they were going to watch the Packers and Lions at Lambeau Field in Green Bay, Wisconsin.
Despite a clear blue sky with bright sunshine, it was cold. Too cold for an April spring morning, in fact, this could have been an October morning.
At game time the temperature was 47 degrees, wind chill was 41 degrees, and the wind was coming out of the northwest at 14 miles per hour with gusts up to 23. Several times during the game, the wind let us know— March hasn’t left Virginia.
A strong gust harmlessly toppled over a goal. Hats were blown off. Priceless artwork from either Josie, or her sister, Ellie was jostled from a bag.
The March like wind zoomed the paper over the awakening Bermuda turf. By the time an observant spectator caught up with the artwork, it was at the edge of another playing field.
That stiff northwest wind pierced my lined fleece, and I wondered out loud—shouldn’t the roar of March be over by now? But, clearly, March still wanted to showcase its wild bellow.
Kathryn’s father reminisced about a soccer game that she had played in years ago in a monsoon. In that drenching, everyone was relieved when a stubborn referee finally called the game in the second half.
There was no way this chilly game was going to be called, but I was hoping that the clock was moving fast.
A few years ago, I attended the Virginia Annual Conference for the United Methodist Church in Roanoke. Outside the civic center, the weather was June perfect—not hot, nor humid. However inside the main hall, the HVAC system felt like it was blowing out cold air from the Arctic.
People sitting near me were wrapped in blankets and throws like they were sitting outside at a college football game in November. I assume this was a ploy by the preachers in charge to keep people awake during the slow parts of the program.
And, it worked. I never nodded off during the conference.
Gradually, the game came to an end. We learned in talking with Kathryn that the season doesn’t conclude until the last days of May. This meant we would have more opportunities to whine about the game time weather conditions.
As I turn older, I have come to realize that my ability to whine is getting worse.
Instead of whining about an unseasonably cool April morning, shouldn’t I be thankful for a granddaughter who can run up and down a soccer field without a care in the world?
At this moment, I imagine carefree soccer games are not a daily occurrence for children in Ukraine and Gaza. I wonder how many years it will be before soccer can be enjoyed again by children in these war torn countries?
I wonder what spring looks like in Ukraine and Gaza neighborhoods where buildings have been blown apart by bombs and rockets, or in fields that are armed with life changing land mines?
Recently, I participated in a small group gathering at our church. A person talked about being out of town for Easter. That didn’t stop her family from attending an Easter service at a Methodist church in the town where they were staying.
This person made an interesting comment about attending church away from home. In reflecting about the out of town worship experience, she focused on how it felt— “to be somewhere new.”
Based upon her comments about the worship service, I sensed the new environment was refreshing. She noted the pastor’s take on the transition from Good Friday to Easter morning was from a different angle.
I’ve thought quite a bit about “to be somewhere new.”
I wonder how many of the challenges we face in our daily living are grounded to our reluctance to try something new.
Preachers have the difficult task of trying to make Easter new during every season of Lent.
Sometimes, when we try something new, or we place ourselves in a new environment, work and life can go horribly wrong.
That happened to the seven aid workers from World Central Kitchen who were killed as they were attempting to deliver food to Palestinians in Gaza.
War, no matter the circumstances, is complicated and horrible. This mistaken, misidentified air strike by the Israeli military only reinforces how hellishly horrific war is. And it appears to me that our inability to get along with each other seems to always drag us down this unforgiving and conflicted path.
With our conflicts, incivility, and war, we need “to be somewhere new.” Our previous preventative diplomacy attempts and military posturing are not bringing us untroubled peace and stability.
I gradually warmed up from the chill of the soccer game. But, it took mowing our yard, and vacuuming out our two cars to heat my blood back up.
While October is my favorite month, I do love the bright splashes of colorful blooms that April supplies.
And I know that sooner or later, the leftover, cold, brisk winds from March will eventually settle down and leave April alone.
But for the winds of unrest that blow across our world, we are going to need help.
In Matthew Chapter 8, Jesus demonstrated his ability to calm the winds of a storm. If we expect to correct our current path, we need to find him again in these storms we are facing.
Which leads me to this question: Aren’t we overdue to find the means to work together to calm the storms that continue to plague us?
might be baloney 