All this means winter is on the way. Every year when the
weather turns chilly, I make a promise to God that I won’t complain about the
weather. It is, after all, a gift each day. But to be very honest, I hate being
cold, and winter is, well, just plain cold here in the Midwest. Why do I do
that? Promise God I won’t complain about the weather. I do it because I believe
He’s got this – He will take care of me, and I do have
everything I need.
It’s so easy to become complainers. And by that, I don’t
mean that you are complaining when coming into a warm home or building,
stomping snow from you boots with your eyelashes frozen and your toes feeling
wooden, you state, “It sure is cold.” That’s a statement, not a complaint.
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| Winter in Iowa |
Complaining is when we whine about what we can’t do because
it’s cold outside. Or we complain about the heat bills when we have the
resources to pay them. It also might be about all the layers we have to put on
to stay warm, complaining even though we have the clothes we need on hand for
the winter chill.
Wearing a coat over layers can be cumbersome. After my
husband, Ron, died in July 2011, I felt I was wearing a very heavy coat – a
coat of grief. It was cumbersome, just as wearing a winter coat makes walking
in the mall or even driving seem awkward because of the extra bulk of the
garment. A coat is necessary in cold weather, and my coat of grief was
necessary, too. But now, I don’t wear it all the time like I did for many
months after he died.
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| Ron and Polly |
Grief is a strange thing. People who have studied it say
there are stages. But my experience has not been that predictable or neat. It’s
actually very messy. I never know when it might hit me, even four years later.
It might be a scent, the sound of a song, words on a page, someone’s voice or
the way something is stated. And when it hits, I immediately grab for my coat
of grief – it’s still hanging there, ready for me to put on if I need it.
My spiritual director said she visualized the hook I can
hang that coat on as God’s hand. He holds his hand out, and I can trust that
the coat will be held, and I can have it back whenever I need it. I like that
visual.
As time has passed since Ron died, I think that God has
exchanged my coat of grief for a lighter-weight coat – maybe more like a spring
coat than a heavy winter garment. I take it down when I need it, wear it for a
while, and then give it back until I need it again. And I imagine I will always
need that coat sometimes. I spent many more years of my life with Ron than
without him, so this new chapter is a big adjustment.
I have a quote on my refrigerator door that I think can
apply to anyone, whether you are preparing for winter as a season, or winter as
a metaphor for your season in life. It’s OK for me to take my grief coat down
and wear it when I need it, but I need to live in the moment – not the past. I
try to think of this quotation as I move forward:
“You can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep re-reading
the last one.”
-- Michael McMillan
I am trusting that my next chapter, even while I am savoring
the last one, will be good. I believe it will, because Jeremiah 29:11 says:
“‘For I know the plans I have for you’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to
prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”
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