Seasons

I marveled at the world Saturday, at the way the frost clung to the slender branches, the way the sun shined and made the earth sparkle, the blue of the sky, the green of the grass. Mom and I took a walk, and my lungs gasped for oxygen, and I was so glad to be alive. While my family and I were having lunch, I looked outside our kitchen window . . . we really do have an extravagant view, . . . and I thought about the trees and the earth and how these takes each season as it comes. Of course it doesn't have much choice. Of course it probably doesn't know better. But still . . .

I'm not very good at that. I'm learning that my patience level is quite low. I want to experience things now. I'm so excited for college and finding him and getting to know him and getting married and having a family and well, for other seasons of my life. I feel like I'm growing and outstretching this cocoon. And growing hurts. But I kinda have this inkling that maybe I need to slow down a little, that maybe I'm missing out. I'm missing out on the now, on the season of winter where the frost clings and life can be cold and hard, but there's beauty here and the sunshine feels so much warmer against the cold and I feel alive and joyful. I'm living in winter where the fog sometimes does keep me from seeing beyond me, but where I'm at is beautiful too, and I think it's where God wants me now. Maybe not later, but now. Spring will come, and it will be glorious, but I don't want to miss winter. I don't want to miss the snow and the cold and the grace and the joy of Jesus walking with me Today. I don't want to run through this. I want to wade it out. Wade the joys of being [insert age here . . . smile], of being absolutely single, of being in high school, and living at home. Wade through the times of uncertainty and the hope that God knows, and that's all I need to know sometimes. I can live in tomorrow another day, but I only have December 28, 2009 once, and then it's gone. I want to minimize the regrets of tomorrow . . . so shalt I live . . . today.