By Kieran Lin Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net
It’s a frosty morning here in middle Tennessee. It’s so cold that the cats won’t even sleep in their climbing tower — which is situated in front of the only window in our office. Usually, the tower is the coveted cat location and we have fur-flinging fights over who gets to sleep there. But not today. Today, they glare at me from across the office as if to imply that the chill in the air is entirely my fault.
I feel bad for the little critters, I really do. But not enough to turn up the heat and subsidize the gas company any more than we already do. I do understand that being cold is no fun. Trust me on this — I’ve decended to a whole new level of being cold this winter. I’ve taken trips to both Colorado and Nebraska and both states heralded my arrival by producing big snow events — just for me! I’m so sorry but I’m just not feelin’ the love! I’m hoping my next trip will be filled with sunny days, starry nights, and day-time highs of at least 70 degrees.
And then there is Tennessee. I had a conversation with the checker at that grocery store this week. She was complaining about the crazy weather. We had thunderstorms and a tornado watch on Wednesday followed by bitter cold, wind, and snow flurries. “Is this a normal winter?” I cautiously asked the checker.
“I’ve lived here my whole life,” she said. “Never seen anything like this.” Dandy. At least, unlike our cats, she didn’t look at me as if I alone was responsible for the current selection of weather.
No matter what Jeff says, Atlanta does not have winter. Ever. That’s just the way it is. Winter is snowmen and mittens and days in front of the fire — not tornado warnings on New Year’s eve and mosquitoes for Valentine’s day.
I loved growing up in Colorado because Colorado is a place with seasons. Yes, they did get a little confused at times — popping out 70 degrees on Christmas day and snow over Memorial day; but for the most part, the seasons are clearly defined and moved along in a nice, orderly fashion — year after year after year. Winter follows fall. Fall follows summer. Summer follows spring. Spring follows winter. That’s just the way it is.
God’s seasons, or the seasons of the heart, aren’t so clearly defined nor are they predictable as to when, exactly, they’ll show up or how long they last; but they too move along in a similar, orderly fashion. Winter follows fall. Fall follows summer. Summer follows spring. Spring follows winter. I’ve learned much about this order in these past few weeks. I’ve also learned that as much as I may want to, skipping through winter to get to spring is simply not an option — no matter how long I sit here and glare at God, I still have to endure winter to get to spring.
You may not know this about me but I am a preschool drop-out. It’s true! Remember, you heard it here first!
Kieran the preschool drop-out!
When I was 4, I went to preschool three days a week at the YMCA. For the first semester, I loved school. My teacher, Mrs. Morton, was wonderful. She allowed us to learn by exploring and by being creative. If the snowman in my painting had three eyes, so what? “I’ll bet he can see a lot better with three eyes,” Mrs. Morton said with a twinkling laugh.
The preschool also had good trucks to play with. Music time included a piano and sometimes Mrs. Morton even played her violin. At Thanksgiving, we roasted pumpkin seeds. What’s not to love?
After Christmas vacation though, I got a new teacher. Without warning, Mrs. Morton was gone – replaced by Mrs. Evans. Mrs. Evans didn’t want me to play with trucks because I was a girl. Every time I turned around, she was handing me a doll. Music time no longer included a violin, just our poor, abused classroom piano that Mrs. Evans played with obvious intent kill a musical instrument. And there were no more pumpkin seeds, no more encouragement, and no more laughter. School became boring and miserable and I hated it.
For a few weeks, I grudgingly went to school because it was what I was supposed to do. But then, creative child that I was, I began coming up with ailments every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Coughing, sneezing, sore throats, stomach aches, headaches — any kind of ache I could think up. My parents caught on pretty quick and I went back to being a regular attender even though I cried every time they dropped me off at school.
One morning, my dad was trying to cheer me up about the impending doom I called “preschool” and told me that we were going to be planting flowers that day. That sounded kind of interesting to me and I perked up. For the first time in weeks, I was interested in school. Indeed that morning we all got a flower pot and a tulip bulb. We planted the bulbs and put the pots in the refrigerator so they would think they were outside surviving winter.
The growing of tulip bulbs was certainly a process and that process drove me completely insane. Everyday we checked our pots and we dumped water in them. Everyday there was no progress. I didn’t understand that it would take weeks if not months to see anything. I didn’t understand why the pots had to be all alone in the cold, dark refrigerator. (This bothered me a lot!) I didn’t understand why my flower wasn’t growing. In my mind, it should already be at home blooming on my dresser.
In frustration and fear for my flower, I did something incredibly naughty. I snuck into the kitchen one day while we were supposed to be napping. Mrs. Evans was napping quite nicely and didn’t even notice that I had left. I took my flower pot out of the refrigerator and there, on the kitchen floor of the Littleton YMCA, I dug my tulip bulb out of the dirt.
It didn’t look any different than when I had planted it. I think I expected to find a beautiful tulip under all that dirt; but there was nothing — just the hard, nut-like thing that I had buried. In a fit of something, I started to pick apart the bulb. I thought that if I peeled enough layers off of the bulb, I would eventually find the promised flower.
When Mrs. Evans found me, there was dirt and pieces of tulip bulb all over the floor. There was also one tearful, seriously disillusioned 4-year-old who just wanted to see the beauty of the flower — not the hardness of the seed. Of course, in my quest to find the bloom, I killed the bulb and there would never be a flower.
I had to go home early that day. Based on Mrs. Evans reaction, you would have thought that I had single-handedly killed Holland rather than simply destroying one little tulip bulb. I never went back to preschool after ” The Great Tulip Incident of `74″; but, I did learn a very profound lesson that day…one that has stayed with me all these years. You can plant, you can nurture, you cultivate, you can love, and you can encourage; but you can’t force something to grow. Forcing a bloom that is not ready is tantamount to murder.
For the past month, I have been trying to force myself to by-pass the frigid harshness of God’s winter in favor of the warmth of His spring. It didn’t work. Spring always follows winter. That’s just the way it is. In the process of trying to skip this season of stark, aching, dormancy, I have nearly managed to kill the beautiful bulb that God planted in me with the promise that in His time, it would bloom.
I didn’t want to wait. I wanted it now. I wanted the flower without the waiting. The spring without the winter. The growth without the pain.
I’m not sure what this Godly winter will look like for me. I don’t know how long it will last. I don’t know how stark it will be or how fierce the winds will blow; but I do know this…I will never be alone because He promised never to leave me or forsake me; and, at the end of this season, spring will come. I will bloom and it will be radiant — simply because He made it so.
And while I wait, I am coaxing a little bulb of hope to take root in my soul as I look forward to the beautiful, enduring promise of spring.
Ecclesiastes 3:1,9-14
1 Comment
February 26, 2009 at 12:22 pm
That darn groundhog said 6 more weeks of winter – by my estimation we only have a few more weeks left. Maybe that will be God’s timing as well. Tulips are coming for you, my friend! :0)