The Thaw

It was only a week ago that we went to sleep believing the weatherman, who said we'd get 1"-3" of snow. We ended up getting 13". This was in addition to the 40" in January, the second snowiest on record. Everywhere I looked, things were distorted. The layers of snow made park benches seem crafted for gnomes or fairies, only a few inches between the seat and the ever rising ground level. Mailboxes peaked mysteriously out of massive piles of ice, hardened by the repeated splash from the snowplow. The branches of the trees grew plump and full, dressed in furry, white coats.

After lunch, we ditched school and headed to the park, the one with the good sledding hill. Can't pass up a chance to play. We still learned important lessons that day, like don't ever let your older siblings make you sit in the front of the sled. It never ends well.

The sun glared so brightly my eyes smarted, and the sky glowed a crisp, contrasting blue. The silence and stillness filled my ears. No voices. No rush from the river across the field, since it was crippled by a top sheet of dense ice. My mind overflowed with the vastness of the lack of sound.

Today, we returned to the park. Instead of sleds, the kids had bikes. Instead of mittens, we wore lightweight jackets. The stillness was replaced by the now raging scream of water. Our voices were whipped and thrown around in a confusion of sound, as the monster overpowered all else in sight, sound, and presence.

How quickly the snow relented. As we walked down the gently sloping path to the lookout point, every crevice was filled with water. No obstacle could hold it back as it sought out lower ground. Faster and faster, under the leaves, around the stones, and down the steps the water raced to join the river on its uncharted course.

The water reminded me of two things. In one way, the world is the water. The relentless torrent that tears down the spiritual protection I've so cautiously constructed. The influences I've let creep in have melted my resources and literally made them disappear. I've been distracted, and while I wasn't looking, the thaw has come.

In that case, the water scares me. The power of it. The murkiness that I can't see through. The current that I forgot to fight against. The whirlpools and hidden traps devised to pull me under. I thought I could do it with just enough prayer and just enough fasting. Just enough---not enough.

Ultimately though, the thaw reminds me of the Creator, who fashioned the flow of the weather. The living water. I think of the smell. I almost forgot what this smells like. The grass I haven't seen for over a month. The dampness of the rain. The life under the freeze. Still there...just sleeping.

While I was huddled up in my cave of hibernation, grumbling about this and whining about that, life was going on without me. The river never freezes solid. It still flows under the ice. Sluggish and out of focus, I wandered, blind to the edges of the path which were hidden under all the snow. Instead of praying more, I prayed less. Instead of looking to God, I looked within myself. Another thing that never ends well.

The thaw is a blessing. A chance to see my life again. Correct my path. Straighten my steps. In this case, the water is a cleansing. The melting of the external extras that are no longer needed. I watch them as they rush away on the current. Out of sight before I have a chance to miss them.

The cold returns tomorrow, and this brief illusion of spring will be but a distant memory in a few short days.

How do I stop myself from freezing again? How do I resist the urge to look the other way, crawl in my cave, and go back to sleep?

I pray that God will keep my nostrils full of the smell of wet grass, my ears bursting with the sound of rushing water, and my eyes dancing with the warm light of the thaw.

Jeremiah 2:13 says, "My people have committed two evils: They forsook Me, the fountain of living water, and hewed for themselves broken cisterns, unable to hold water."

Lord, have mercy on me for seeking my own way and building this sad, worthless excuse of a container. Fill me with the living water and help me to hold it. In the rivers that flow through prayer. In the pathways that run straight and true through fasting. In the thaw that returns life to all who have fallen asleep.