Mr. Winter Packs His Bags

Shhh . . . come closer.  I have to whisper.  I don’t want him to hear me.

Mr. Winter has overstayed.  He has worn out his welcome.  I am ready for him to go.  It’s the same every year.   I always welcome him when he breezes in, but I know in the back of my mind how happy I will be when he decides to take his leave. 

I do feel a bit guilty about my feelings because of all the nice hostess gifts he brings.  Almost as soon as he arrives, he unwraps Christmas, which I dearly love.  Then he usually delivers some snow, which is delightful.  Sometimes he presents us with dazzling ice sculptures that take our breath away.  Magnificent displays!

While he is here, he allows me to do special things — like wearing my wool sweaters and scarves that have lain quietly forgotten during my tenure in warmer climates.  He lets me curl up with a book and a cup of hot chocolate or spiced tea without guilt since icy streets preclude the usual thoughts of errand-running.  For these treats I am grateful.

Despite these lovely aspects of his visit, I confess that I am never sorry to see him go, as I am when Spring announces, all too soon, that she is “going away for a while — but I’ll be back next year — if Winter comes.”

IF Winter comes . . .?”  There is a possibility that he won’t?  That would be too bad.  I would miss him if I never saw him at all.  But still . . .

Oh . . . hold on . . . I think I see him packing his bags.  He has already put in most of the snow and the frigid air.  The ice patches are out of sight as well.  I try to mask my elation as he says, “I have to go away.  Your temps are climbing into the sixties this weekend and will hover there through next week.”

“Really?” I say and try to look sad.

“Yes, but who knows?  I might be able to come back for a week or two after that.”

“Really?”  I say and try to look glad.

As I wave him good-bye, I’m already feeling a bit warm in my sweater.  I smile as he disappears over the hill, secretly hoping he does not return until next year (even though I know I will wish for him when Summer settles in).  I turn around to go inside and see something on the ground by the driveway.

Oh no!  It’s something he forgot — a patch of snow!  Does that mean he will be coming back?

My spirits sink, but then I remember . . . “to every thing there is a season . . . He has made everything beautiful in its time.”

As I head into the kitchen to clear away the tea things, I remember my resolve to stay in the moment and take one day at a time, whatever it may bring.  Yes, that’s what I’ll do.  I won’t worry about what will happen next week.  I will relax in the current conditions, whatever they may be.  “Do not worry about tomorrow.”   

Wait just a minute . . . excuse me but I have to turn up the TV . . . it’s the weather forecast.  They’re giving the seven-day!

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About Jan Hamlett

Exploring faith outside the safety of Sunday
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2 Responses to Mr. Winter Packs His Bags

  1. Monica says:

    Love. Love. Love.

  2. Jan Hamlett says:

    He did in fact return this week, but he did not bring his snow.

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