Here we go . . . again
It is April 18th today, and my children were released from school early because of a snowstorm. I snapped this picture of my favorite goat (a tin ware caprine friend given to me by one of my favorite families). Poor Beauregard was plastered, prompting an immediate rescue. Hope springs eternal, and ol’ Beau has seen more than his share of winter in the two weeks he’s been back standing sentinel on the front stoop.
What he has witnessed got me to thinking about another time honored evidence of spring. Each year, we watch, waiting for our feathered friends to alight our yard. The arrival of robins in my neck of the woods also means the utterance of old time sayings. Most have something to do with the emergence of spring, but one in particular seems to be most fitting.
Gotta snow three times on a robin’s (or you could substitute guard goat’s) back before it’s spring.
This year the saying is definitely true. And it’s been verifiable a few other times in my life as well. Today marks number three for cold, white backs on our red-breasted birds.
While the rest of us begrudge and bemoan what seems like the worst winter yet (basically because we were spoiled with virtually no snow and warmer temperatures last year), there are others like a dear friend of mine who are thanking God for the miserable weather.
Sometimes it takes the wisdom of someone walking through a storm of life for you to really gain perspective. Chatting at church last night, my friend shared that she, too, was sick of winter, but then she figured God has a plan for everything.
Turns out a little boy very close to her is doing battle in his own body (Enemy #1 = leukemia). For the next so-many days, he is restricted to indoors while the war wages on. What’s the best way to stop sick little boys from playing outside in the fresh springtime air? The answer: make the weather miserable so he doesn’t want to go out.
Wow! Talk about a different perspective. While we still have our struggles here, some snow on the ground or extra days in school are pretty small beans in comparison to fighting for your life. Yet, it took the words of a worried friend to give me new vision.
Safe, secure, and snuggled in with my precious babes, today I am going to look at each flake as a blessing from God.
And just in case we get a whole lot more blessings on any backs, I will let ol’ Beau vacation a little longer in the house.