Dear Theophilus Archive: April 2001

Seasons

Summer

Excitement vibrates in the air. Tense and tight like a guitar string, yet yielding. Music resonates, giving tone to laughing chatterings. It's early in the day, but people move in invisibly orchestrated herds. Pulled closely together, urged forward, expectant but unknowing.

Beachballs and parasols, cameras and picnic baskets, Hawaiian shirts and coconut-scented sunscreen. Grandmothers and great grandfathers, toddlers and infants, teenagers and baby boomers, stepfathers and foster moms, uncles and the kid next door. Hilarity and mania, curiosity and confusion, ignorance and skepticism, hopefulness and anticipation.

and a great crowd of people followed him...
(John 6:2a)
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Fall

The ground is littered with a yellow lace of leaves. I trace the trail with my shoes but end in confusion as brown clumps frustrate my path. Bending down I study the sheer layers of sticky leaves in the dirt. Tiny veins are visible. Individually a snaking river, but collectively the braiding of a countryside. It curls and bends acrobatically, decorating and framing.

The howling wind gives me a shove and then a slap to my face. Breathless and surprised I stumble about before gaining ground. I wrap my coat closely, but to no avail. The bitter cold seeps in, tickling at first and then swallowing me whole.

and lead us not into temptation...
(Matthew 6:13a)
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Winter Dunes and pillows of snow, soft to touch with the eye. I want to reach out and stroke the white crust, but knowing how unforgiving, how protective it resists. The sound of silence envelops the world, all is still-am I alone? Tiptoeing, I search high and low and deep and wide, mountains and valleys and oceans and kingdoms. Not a soul is astir. Alone.

My mind soars in oblivion, suspended halfway from here to there. I want to knock, but cannot. The gate so narrow, the light so piercing, distant. Fear mocks me, nibbling my right ear, scratching at my heel, pricking my side. But I will not. I shall not-NO.

Exhausted and empty, I spiral down and down. Slumber surrounds me, tucking me in like a flannel blanket. I am quiet and still, quiet and still.

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
(Psalm 139:7)

When I awake, I am still with you.
(Psalm 139:18b)
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Spring

A bud is an undeveloped shoot from which leaves or flower parts grow. The buds of temperate-zone trees and shrubs typically develop a protective outer layer of small, leathery scales. Buds of many plants require exposure to a certain number of days below a critical temperature before resuming growth in the spring. This period, often referred to as rest, varies for different plants. Forsythia, for example, requires a relatively short rest period and grows at the first sign of warm weather. Many peach varieties, on the other hand, require 700 to 1,000 hours of temperatures below 45°F. During rest, dormant buds can withstand very low temperatures, but after the rest period is satisfied, they are more susceptible to damage by cold temperatures or frost (http://gened.emc.maricopa.edu).

Little Billy is being chased by puppy spaniel. Linda and John are dancing in the yard. Robin and Steph are swinging up to the skies. Kathy is pushing her brother on his bike. Mommy and Daddy are grilling a feast. Birdy and Birdie are chirping a suite.

The topaz-washed sky giggles at the sunbeams' glimmer. Cottonballs chase across the horizon, teasing and amorphing in humorous forms. The emerald around me glitters and proclaims, flowers in bloom flirt and flitter. Swirling and twirling, chuckling and musing, all of creation nodding in unison. Ascending, rising, lifting, and growing, stretching upward and upward and almost touching. Untwisting my arms and uncurling my heart, open and hoping, all of me waiting.

And then a breath in a gentle mist descending, kissing and cradling, and embracing.

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
his love endures forever.
(1Chronicles 16:34)

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty;
the whole earth is full of his glory.
(Isaiah 6:3)