I don’t know about where you live, but in Richmond, Virginia, winter has returned.
The last couple of years, winter was tame— not this year.
We’ve been hit by two lightweight snowstorms.
The first one started as snow. At some point during the night, the precipitation changed to sleet, and it ended with the dreaded freezing rain.
A few days later, the second storm hit. It was a light, fluffy snow. Maybe three inches covered the ground.
Cold temperatures have been a part of these storms. With night time lows in the teens and a couple of days where the thermometer barely went over the freezing mark.
We still have a fair amount of snow on the ground. Old timers called that hanging around snow—seed snow. Meaning it was hanging around for more snow to fall.
When he was growing up, our son, Andrew, a real lover of snow, despised these quick hitting Southern snowstorms. Andrew wanted to be in Buffalo or some other northern city where the snowstorms weren’t wimpy. He wanted accumulations in feet not puny inches.
Growing up in the heart of North Carolina, in the winter, I prayed for snow. Sometimes, that praying worked.
Today, I’m too old for snow.
My fear is making the wrong slippery snow step resulting in an ungraceful fall, and maybe a cracked noggin.
I also struggle with the weather forecasting.
Television stations seem to employee dozens of meteorologists who yak and yak and yak about the pending winter storm. I think all that mindless chatter is probably a conspiracy of some sort with grocery stores in cahoots with bread and milk suppliers.
Local forecasters are trying to stir up another tiny snow maker for the Richmond area this weekend. I’m more concerned about the Arctic air that will blast us after the moisture passes.
For the Richmond area, we have a couple of days where the high temperature will be 23 with a night time low of 7. Clearly, not weather for shorts and a t-shirt.
This afternoon, Thursday, January 16, I sensed that God might be getting nervous about this developing snowstorm. That nervousness pushed me to our neighborhood hardware store.
Once there, I purchased five fifty pound bags of ice melt for our church. You know God likes churches to be open on Sundays no matter the winter forecast.
In all honesty, I can’t let go of the predicted bitterly cold temperatures.
I can only imagine what that frigid blast might be like for a homeless person.
Maybe that homeless person hangs on to these words from Joshua Chapter 1 verse 9: “I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”
I question how that scripture applies to people ravaged by Hurricane Helene, the wildfires in Los Angeles, the war between Ukraine and Russia, and the cease fire between Israel and Palestine.
Sadly for Americans, that scripture must apply to our addiction for solving our individual conflicts with another person by senselessly shooting and murdering that person.
As God looks down upon us, I wonder how weary he is with all this turmoil. I’m curious if he follows the advice in the Bible where we are told not to worry?
I sense what worries God more than anything else is that we keep missing his wake up calls.
Myself included, we seem oblivious to the challenges we face and unwilling to make the needed sacrifices to solve our problems.
Why are we unwilling to confront gun violence?
Why do we have a housing crisis?
Why are people homeless?
Why can’t we build wiser to prevent potential destruction from hurricanes and wildfires?
Why can’t we prevent cancer from returning to a person who has beaten this scourge once?
Every week, our church collects food for three local food pantries—why do we do this?
Where has our moral compass gone?
After a national tragedy occurs, we briefly grieve and reflect. Fingers of blame are pointed. Politicians babble and promise changes. Within a few days, we are ready for normal to return, and we attempt to resume our lives.
In all honesty, normal never returns to the people impacted by any catastrophic tragedy. The hurt in their hearts never ever leaves.
And then at some point, the next speck of catastrophic neglect appears in our rearview mirror. We are blindsided, overtaken, and the whole vicious tragic cycle starts again.
I love the music created by the Asheville, North Carolina based Americana band the Steep Canyon Rangers. These musicians are thoughtful songwriters, masterful pickers, and singers with a gift for flawless harmonies. Do not turn down a chance to see the Rangers performing in concert.
In September of 2023, the band released the album Morning Shift. Four lines from that title song make me ponder my day to day living:
“When I wake up this morning to when I lay down tonight, I want to know that I’ve done something, I’ve done something right.”
I wonder how many days I have where I can confirm that “I’ve done something right?”
As he looks down upon us, does God think about his opportunities to do something right?
On those days when the world goes right for God, might he worry less about us— is he less nervous about our future?
Maybe that is a question for our hearts, and a reminder from James 1, verses 2-3: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.”
In this mean old world, the trials of life never stop, not even for God.
And, I’m sorry, but there is no joy in the trials of life.
Yet, somehow, we must persevere.
It is through that perseverance, that we have the chance to do something right.
And God knows this weary, old world needs us to do something right.
I hope I can.
might be baloney 