In my year with God at the park, I walked through heat and humidity, snow, below-freezing temperatures, gentle mist, ice, three nor-easters, and wind that flipped my umbrella inside out. The weather was different each day but there was something to be loved in all of it. On some bitter cold walks, though, I did savor the thought of sun on my bare arms, for I had no doubt that spring was coming.
That is the way of God’s seasons. Like Friday at the end of a hard week, each one arrives as a welcome relief to the one before it and brings with it a new gift. A toe dipping into a deep blue lake. The first orangey sassafras leaf dropping onto my green lawn, an invitation to all the rest. A great sycamore skeleton pointing at the flat, white sky. A young bird finding its balance on a budding dogwood. Seasons and storms begin and end, both bringing fresh wind from places we have never been.
Storms are part of the ecosystem of my life. So I batten down the hatches. Dry my clothes by the fire. Pray. Bring in the dog. Gather at the table for board games. Make hot chocolate, the homemade kind. And step out on the porch often to find the silver lining. It will be there. That’s how it works.
He still the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed. They were glad when it grew calm, and he guided them to their desired haven. Psalm 107:29-30
Meeting God at the Park 