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Seasons

         I grew up on a farm in Central Illinois (“s” is silent my dear Southerners!), where we experienced different and distinct seasons of the year. I really enjoyed springtime where the grass began to “green up” and the weeds were still mostly dormant. Everything felt fresh and new as the trees began to bud and the flowers would bloom. The dust would fly as the tractors roamed the fields, and the winds would blow unhindered across the open prairie. I still remember taking supper to Dad when he was planting corn, and he would have so much black dust covering his face that he was hardly recognizable. Spring reminded me of new things.

       Soon though, the spring would give in to the hot and humid summer days. Sometimes it was so humid that you just could hardly stand to be outside. We didn’t have air-conditioning, but we had a whole house attic fan that would whirl and grind all through the night. It was right by my bedroom and the noise would drone off in the distance as I would fall asleep near an open window. In the morning I would awaken to damp sheets that were covered with the dew from the night that made its way through the window urged on by the whirling fan.

   Summers were spent running through the sprinkler, cultivating corn and mowing lawn every week. Sometimes, for a few extra bucks, my brother and I would farm ourselves out to the neighboring farmer to “walk” beans. That meant you would walk through the bean fields with a hoe and cut weeds. I hated it and vowed that if I ever farmed I would never walk beans. (I’m glad to say that later I did farm, and I kept my vow!)

    Summer waned and soon the corn turned brown along with the beans. We would roll the combine out of the shed and get it ready for the harvest. We greased what I thought to be an endless amount of grease zerks. I often wondered if John Deere enjoyed hiding those grease zerks and putting them in the most hard to reach places so that dust dropped at precisely the right moment right in your face and down your shirt. Fall often seemed to come in gasps as the nights would get cool while the days continued to be hot. Sweatshirts were popular in the morning and short sleeves were the order by noon. (We didn’t know about sun screen.) Soon the winds would blow endlessly and with it came the cooler days. Mom’s homemade chili and cornbread tasted so good as we sat around the supper table. The fall was filled with chopping silage, then combining corn and playing in the grain wagons.

        After harvest we would rush to do the fall work, and it seemed that winter often would challenge our timing. A small frost would sneak in during the night and pretty soon the frosty mornings were an every morning occurrence. The smell of plowed ground reluctantly gave way to the snow, proving that winter had arrived. Snow would cover the fields and soon things were pristine and clean. There was a blanket of white everywhere, and my brother and I would enjoy the games that went along with that, though they would sometimes lead to more than games.   I always enjoyed the “testing” of the roads by Dad as we jumped into the old ‘72 Ford pickup and headed to the other farm to feed the cattle. He would spin right, then left, back and forth, going down the road exclaiming all the time how really slick it was.  “Woo-hoo” my brother and I would yell. (How I miss snow and rear wheel drive cars!)

       Cold toes and cold fingers were the gifts that winter brought. We would stamp our feet and blow into our hands trying in vain to keep warm till we were done feeding the cattle. It often felt like those two hours might as well have been a lifetime as we waited for the howl of the mixing machinery to finally stop.  Meanwhile, we did make some good friends with some of the 400 head of steers holed up in the barn. One day I was lying on my back, on the back of good ‘ol Dean having a wonderfully tranquil conversation with him when unbeknown to me the feed salesman walked in. I felt rather foolish and tried to think back quickly to what sort of intellectual things I had been saying to my friend, the faithful steer.

          Each season was filled with change and new things that brought joys and challenges. As I grew older, I began to appreciate the different seasons more and more.   Today, more than ten years have passed since I left the farm back in Illinois but I’m still discovering and experiencing different seasons. Seasons that life itself brings. Being in my mid-forties probably brings me to mid-life and the challenges that go with that. But even within these eras of life I seem to go through seasons. I can’t say that I really enjoy them all, but nevertheless, they are still there.

        Sometimes there is spring and sometimes there is bleak winter. There are days that are filled with hope and sometimes there are just... days. There are times of new growth and excitement and there are days that are dismal, bleak and wind blown. There are days that make me look at God and tell Him how much I really need Him to give me strength to do ministry. Maybe in the past I let my outgoing personality propel me forward, but not this day. I’m in a season of urgently calling on God for the simple things. Is God honored in this season? I hope so, but in the midst of it I find it rather unfulfilling and difficult. Hope seems to wane but thankfully never seems to leave completely. Questions swirl around in my mind and I wonder if this is normal.

          Maybe God really is honored when we cry out to Him in the winter seasons! Maybe we don’t think we have much need for God when we “feel” the excitement of Spring in our lives and we don’t cry out to Him with any sort of fervency. Just maybe our “mountain top” moments are leaving God behind and the “valleys” are where we meet again. Maybe the valleys, when they are still filled with hope, are places of great fellowship with the Father. Maybe there is great perspective and longing that results from the bleak cold days. I think so. But I confess that I find myself getting cold fingers and stomping my feet hoping for some warmth. I get impatient and I look forward to a warmer season where flowers bloom and the sky is full of white summer clouds. I know it will come, but in the meantime Lord, teach me to walk by faith and not by feelings!

  The Psalmist says it most eloquently in Psalms 63,

 “O God, You are my God; Early will I seek You; My soul thirsts for You;

My flesh longs for You in a dry and thirsty land where there is no water...

My lips shall praise you. Thus will I bless You while I live…”

 Your Pastor, Tim

For questions or comments you may email the pastor at timbev2@yahoo.com or the webmaster at hffinc@i-c.net