Shelter

Last week there was sunshine and some warmth. We were turning off the central heating, drying clothes on the line, and going for walks in short sleeves. This week, we’re back to rummaging through the bag under the stairs for hats and gloves. A bitter wind blasts faces and knuckles as we pass one another on the street and joke about the weather.

Waking up each day, of each passing week, we don’t know exactly what’s coming our way. The weather perfectly reflects the nature of life. It’s unpredictable, changeable, and constantly reminding us that we shouldn’t take anything for granted. Sometimes we bask in the goodness of life and all its pleasures, while at other times, we are bracing ourselves against the icy coldness of difficulty and suffering from ‘inward toil and dejection’, as Amy Carmichael puts it.  

Signs

Walking through the park, the trees are still exposed frames standing stark against a dull grey sky. Their architectural frameworks are ready and waiting to bear their load of bud, blossom, flower and leaf. It’s still a cold breeze blowing across the open football pitches, making you regret not having a pair of gloves in your coat pocket. Dogs race over the grass and track muddy paw prints across the tarmac path. Deep puddles still lie in indentations of the ground on either side and there is still the possibility of a thin film of ice hardening the surface overnight.