Yesterday we awoke to sunshine here in Michigan. The air held a chill, but blue skies and billowy clouds watched over us as we drove to church. The minister greeted the congregation by welcoming the blue skies and brisk temperatures and followed with the warning to check the forecast. Enjoy what we have for now without worrying about what is to come later, he advised.
The forecast. A concept in itself. As time would have it, the forecast held true; snow began to fall about 3 p.m. Sunday, and continued until dawn with a whopping 10 inches on the ground. But what about the forecast, should it ruin the blue skies as they come or should we live in the moment savoring the time we have in sunshine without worrying for tomorrow and how we are going to get out of the driveway?
I pondered this subject throughout yesterday morning, awaiting the inevitable snow. Nowadays, we can clearly see the radar and know snow is coming; weather guesswork becomes more often a rarity.
I think of times in the past when fear of tomorrow stymied me so much I could not savor my moments. Years ago, when Elise and Nick were in elementary school, we took them to dinner to announce an upcoming move - a most unwelcome announcement, we knew, but thought it would be unfair wake them up one morning with a moving truck in the driveway, even though we don’t like delivering unwelcome news.
In a very typical reaction of those two, Nick stared a bit stunned and Elise responded by throwing French fries at her dad and declaring in no uncertain terms that this move would not include her. We moved about six months afterward and rather than preparing the kids and myself with musings of adventure and the positive outlook of the change in our lives, I focused on the "last" time we did everything...the last time we would go to our pool...the last time we would pass Kroger...the last time they would play on their play set. Looking back, one would think we were loading up on a cattle car to Auschwitz.
When I think of those months of anticipation, rather than learning new things about our new home and enjoying the best of our current home, I unwittingly robbed them of their blue skies; I disallowed them to live in the moment by focusing on the forecast.
A winter storm warning may seem like a nasty forecast, but, once again life is pure perspective - yes, our snow came, but it was absolutely beautiful as it fell. Because it was Sunday, we had the privilege of watching the snow fall from a warm house, in front of tall windows and against a wooded backdrop. It would have been perfect if Roger had remembered to bring in firewood in from the elements - but seriously, who needs perfect? Because we are rounding out the month of February, we know the snow will not last long, and, thanks to Michigan winter mobility, I safely left the house today at 9 a.m.
Blue skies will follow, they always do eventually - and the gray weather becomes a memory.
Back in 1996 when we engaged in the aforementioned move, we all learned that anticipation is usually worse than the actual event. We spent less than two nights in the new house before a girl and boy, brother and sister, exactly Nick and Elise's ages appeared at the mail box. These two shy kids sucked it up to wait until my two shy kids were brave enough to walk out the door. The foursome became heart friends and spent most waking moments together that summer. They introduced a new culture to Nick and Elise - along with their food, and practices and I gave the neighbor kids their first tastes of Pop Tarts and Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese.
When we returned to live in Franklin a year later, blue skies shined with happy memories. Sometimes the dark clouds seem unending and there are no cool new kids waiting at the mailbox, bluer skies still do come, and even in the storms, hints of the beauty of the storm peek around the corners.
I believe in living in today, in relishing the moment without fear of tomorrow, but the actual practice is a challenge I continually strive to learn. The scripture the minister referenced yesterday morning was "I will not fear tomorrow for God is with me..." (Matt. 6:34). With those words in my pocket, I can enjoy the snow bending down the pine branches and not stress over the second-wave forecast for Roger's evening commute.
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