God's Spring

Seriously, is there really more snow coming? When I went to bed the weatherman said maybe two to four inches. Did you miss the "maybe" in that sentence? Because I clung to it like a life raft. When I got up my husband delivered the cheery news that now they were predicting four to eight inches. Wow.
I know I live in the Midwest. I know it's February. But really? Where's the early spring promised by that famous groundhog? I don't like him anymore. Liar, liar pants on fire. And yes, I'm blogging about the weather. Deal with it. Because I'm gonna have to deal with the snow. Dreaming about retiring in Florida and working at Disney isn't working for me anymore.
Snow is okay for a season. A very short season. It is pretty. It sparkles softly and lays quietly. After a snowfall if you stand outside with a hundred layers on-and I'm not kidding-I'm still surprised at how silent the world is. Then, it can melt the next day. Thank you Jesus.
Thanking Jesus for the melting snow is really only the tip of the iceberg. No pun intended. We really wouldn't appreciate Spring as much if we hadn't gone through winter. With Spring comes the budding of trees and the blooming of flowers. I can't believe that the grass is so incredibly green or the flowers of Spring only last a little while. That makes us appreciate them so much more.
Then, there's Easter. Double wow. Pondering all Christ did for us. Sometimes it's unfathomable. But it's always good. It's always filled with love. True, the Reese's peanut butter eggs rock like no other but that isn't the point. The point is Jesus. Point to the cross, point to Jesus. It's a really cool cycle. So ponder that a little more. I know I will and I will never be able to thank Him enough for His sacrifice. I'm going to mull that over a bit longer while I enjoy my peanut butter eggs. On sale now.

God's Lost

I am feeling a bit lost. My father has had a stroke. Not a mini-stroke like he's been having for the past twelve years but a stroke in the cerebrum. He is now using a walker and when I talk to him on the phone he sounds like an old man. Not good. Scary. Not something I really want to face. I spoke to a friend who's mother isn't doing so well either. We are in very different places. This friend is ready to fight. I admire her spirit. I am coping by crying or sleeping. Shock is another word I'd use. Chocolate yet another favorite. Notice praying isn't making the cut.
I wouldn't say my father and I are particularly close. Yet, there were times if he hadn't been there for me, no one would have been. And he gave me strength when I needed it most. We are a lot a like with the same sarcastic humor. He hides his sensitivity and I wear mine like a badge of honor. His criticisms have given me the courage to fight injustice to children-my own, my friends and sometimes strangers. He has empowered me to tell it like it is.
I forget from time to time how deeply religious he is. He doesn't talk about it often. His God is personal and private to him. When he does talk about his faith, everyone sits up and listens. It is incredibly moving.
I'm trying to make my way back to that moving place. Get past the upset and find that place of prayer and faith. Feeling lost isn't where my Heavenly or earthly father wants me to be.