I woke up to a frosted world this morning,
Everything, edged in lacy white.
Wondering why this has to be so late in May...
It is a mystery to me.
A mystery, but nonetheless, it has happened.
I am always a little sad at what frost does to the brave tulips;
seeing them hang their heads as if they did something wrong.
But then, I am reminded that I am sometimes like that damaging frost.
I say things, edged in ice, intending to sting.
I turn a cold shoulder when I think I have been wronged.
I freeze the ones I love the most.
I make their heads go down, their eyes downcast.
Why? Why can't I just have a gentle spirit ALL the time?
But then something warm touches me.
In the darkest, coldest places of my heart, I feel a warm breath.
God is real to me. He knows my heart.
He created it.
He created me.
And He loves me.
In spite of the frost.
He melts the frostiness, and urges me to be gentle.
I see our furnace this morning,
showing me evidence of warmth.
The furnace is ugly, but what it produces is beautiful.
God does that with me.
He takes the ugliest bits and transforms them.
In my own strength...impossible.
In His...not.
A Gentle Spirit.
I can't help it; I think of our cows.
Big, soft brown eyes.
Mama's out tending their babies in the pasture.
Enjoying the frosty coolness of the morning as their cow breath curls out in wisps of steam.
They await the day, patient and peaceful.
I want to be a cow.
(Admit it, you do too.)
Today, I want my frosty edges to melt. I want to be aware of the still, small voice that keeps me on track, keeps me from words, that once spoken are like icicles, sharp and pointed, ready to hurt. The frost has served it's purpose for me, it's silent reminder to be gentle.
Job 37:10 By the breath of God, frost is given...
Maybe, for today, it was just for me.
Love,
Dianne
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