Mouse-colored Mornings – A New Perspective on the Wintry Seasons of Our Lives

 Because my body is a solar-powered, energy-guzzling consumer, I hate winter. Like a cell phone with a battery that reads 23%, I start shutting down all but the most necessary functions when the sun doesn’t shine. Languishing in Energy Saver mode from November to March, I hunker down until that magic yellow orb reappears, and I can recharge.

Until then, my output is negligible and my productivity tanks.

I always bemoan what winter does to the landscape. Leaf-laden trees become anorexic skeletons. Indigo sky bleaches to institutional grey. The fiery sun dims and cools.

Three seasons of the year, in the pond behind my house, geese squabble, frogs sing their off-key chorus, and a choir of song birds practice their Sunday specials. In winter, however, the pond is silent.

The foliage, normally lush with a thousand shades of green, is barren and uninspiring. The yellow jasmine parading across my back fence languishes, a debutante minus her necklace of butter-colored blossoms. Stocky azaleas hunker down, buds closed tightly against the cold, dreaming of the day their cotton candy flowers will swell and bloom. Only the flame-shaped Bradford pear dares to show off, but its snowflake petals do nothing to color the landscape.

Today, sighing at yet another mouse-colored morning, God gave me a different perspective. Like when my optometrist clicks a lens in place and my near-sighted vision clears, I saw what I’d been missing all along.

When winter alters the landscape:

I see what has been hidden. Without the blanket of leaves covering the branches of the oak tree in my backyard, I can see the circumference of the pond. Last year’s birds’ nests. The dog that barks for his breakfast in my neighbor’s yard each morning.

I see people I’ve never seen before. Somehow, between last winter and this, a house has sprung up beside the pond. Maybe the neighbors who lived in the little home have upgraded. Or a new neighbor has settled in.

I see new tasks and assignments. Without their leaves, I can see the skeleton shapes of the trees that border my property and the bushes that line my flower beds. Some branches are dead. Others are weak. Some are unruly. I realize they need the attention of my pruning shears to be healthy.

I see a different beauty. The beauty of the oak tree’s frame. The also-beautiful shades of grey, brown, and white that sunshine blinded my eyes to. The blossoms of cold-loving plants that wither in the warmth of summer.

Winter seasons of life (illness, grief, sorrow, loneliness, need) can similarly reveal things we’ve never seen before:

What has been hidden from us. When grief or loss, fear or failure strip our days, looking outward as we look inward allows us to see the framework of faith that supports our lives. We see glimpses of God’s grand plan and remember this world is not all there is. We see the evidences of God’s love and care we missed in the days of prosperity.

People we’ve never seen before. The winter of grief introduces us to others who are mourning. Some we can learn from, others we can minster to, still others will walk the path with us. The icy clutch of illness drives us to places where sick people gather. There we can find help, friendship, and an opportunity to share the reason for the hope that lies within us. The dark days of need, or loneliness, or fear invite us to embrace life-sustaining truths, not only for ourselves, but for those who share our struggles.

New tasks and assignments. God has birthed many a ministry in the frozen wasteland of trial. Second Corinthians 1:3-5 reminds us God wastes no suffering. If we learn the lessons well, often (always) he’ll allow us to redeem our pain by easing someone else’s. Looking at our new normal through faith eyes reveals opportunities to serve God and others. Can we sprinkle faith seeds on barren ground? Gently snip a false or damaging belief from someone’s faith tree? Fertilize fledgling spiritual growth? Realizing this trial is not all about me frees me to accept and steward the new assignments a winter season brings my way.

A different beauty. In a winter season of life, God will often give us altered perception. The ability to see that even ugly things can be beautiful if we look closely. In God’s upside down economy, he brings “beauty from ashes” and “puts a new song in our heart." The dark days of parenting a prodigal helped me see the illuminating beauty of prayer. The icy winds of illness revealed to me the warm beauty of caring loved ones. The leanness of need showed me the ample beauty of daily provision.

Today the winter winds blow cold, and rain blankets the landscape. Tomorrow the sun may shine. Regardless, I will embrace the day, the one the Lord has made. Winter or summer, with God’s help, I will discover formerly hidden things, see people I’ve never seen before, find new tasks and assignments, and marvel at a different kind of beauty. Winter lasts for a season. Spring always comes. God never stops working.

If you’re in a winter season today, squeeze every bit of God’s goodness out of it. Don’t waste your pain. God is not only in it, he is orchestrating the details for your good and his glory.

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