As a lover of cold weather, I spend most of the year complaining about the ridiculous heat and humidity that is typical of life in the South. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve dreamed of moving to the mountains, where you can wear shorts in the daytime and sit around the campfire at night. That’s the life I was meant to live.
Oh, I realize the place is what you make it, so we try to make this sauna we call the South a bit more desirable. We put hot tubs in our backyards, even though they can only be enjoyed (by any reasonable person) about 2 months out of the year. But that doesn’t stop us! We have parties in July with our patio lights and fire-pits, where the party favors consist of bug spray and sweat rags.
Fall, even in Louisiana, is one of my favorite times of the year, as it announces the arrival of two beloved seasons: football and hunting. But something is terribly wrong when you find yourself in the football stands (or the deer stand, for that matter) in shorts and a tank top. A few weeks ago, I left a game early and warned my friends not to look at my backside, as I was certain it had been saturated by significant amounts of posterior perspiration. This should not be!
I love absolutely everything about winter, especially the weather and wardrobe. I’ve spoken often of my disdain for summer and my desire to retire in some blissful place where the temperature never gets above 70 degrees. And while that sounds like a marvelous plan, the other day I was challenged to reconsider my intentions. I was heading out of town on a road trip, daydreaming of cooler temperatures, when something occurred to me.
If I never experienced the searing heat of summer, would I even appreciate the chill of fall or the frost of winter. This thought carried me back to 1997, when I was pregnant with my first child and fighting a fierce stomach bug. I remember clinging to the toilet, praying for death to come before the next round of dry heaves. The agony continued for what seemed like days, though I’m pretty sure it was, at most, only a few dreadful hours. When my stomach finally settled enough to crawl into the bed, I reveled in a newfound rest. I had learned to appreciate something I had previously taken for granted: only when you know the absence of health can you truly enjoy its presence.
Could this be true of the weather as well? Is it actually my endurance of summer that deepens my anticipation and appreciation of winter? Even today, before I wrote these words, I stepped outside to enjoy the first crisp day of fall. It’s exciting, it’s special, it’s new. It’s all the things it could never be if it was permanent.
As I traveled the lonely road to my remote destination, it dawned on me. This epiphany was not about summer (or stomach bugs), but about suffering on a much deeper level. Were it not for the painful seasons, we would not recognize the comfort of relief. Without the experience of need, how could we cherish abundance? It doesn’t take the sting out of our suffering, but this discovery exposes the rays of redemption in our darkest of moments.
“You have been a refuge for the poor, a refuge for the needy in their distress, a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat.” Isaiah 25:4