Years ago, in college, my husband and I took a trip north to Canada. It was November, there was a white out, and we were camping on the north shore of Lake Superior. It was the coldest trip, the coldest week, the coldest cold, I have ever experienced. My spotty memories from that trip are, exclusively, moments of seeking warmth.
To keep myself alive in the daytime, I cross country skied. Every few hours, when the bitter air became unbearable, I’d buckle on a pair of skies and take off, carving two straight lines into the blight. It didn’t matter where I was going, just so I generated heat. There was one small pub near our camp. We had plenty of food and little money to spare, but we returned to its cozy wooden booths for warmth again and again. There I discovered the comforting goodness of chili con queso. I must have eaten 5 crocks of it that week, (and many, many since). At night we built a fire and, wearing as many layers as we could manage, huddled closely to the glow. I still own the boots I wore on that trip, the melted soles tell the story better than I.
The things I do for comfort, for relief, to avoid pain. Instead of running away, jumping into the fire, or eating bowls of cheese, I can turn to God. I can read His word. I can feel His warmth and peace in prayer and meditation. His ways are good and perfect. He will sustain me. He will warm me when my days are cold.
But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. Isaiah 40:31
Meeting God at the Park 