Changing Seasons…and Hearts

Thursday morning, we woke up to several inches of snow. This kind of thing doesn’t happen too often in Georgia, so I went camera crazy.

I left my husband PORCH PARTYING by himself while I took pictures.

If you’re from the snow country, never mind, but if you’re from the deep South, you might enjoy the miracle we witnessed.

You can barely see the walkway to our house.

Our driveway was completely covered.

Icicles clung to the bird feeder.

Tree limbs crystalized.

As a child, I didn’t think too much about seasons changing. Maybe that comes with age and experiencing the seasons of life.

What about the season of raising teenagers? We thought that season would last forever.

And the season of grief. We’ve buried a child, my father, our grandparents, others we love.

The season of sickness. Waiting on doctors to call. Test results. Biopsies.

I’ve been smothered by depression, so far down I didn’t think I’d rise again.

When you’re going through a difficult season, you’re convinced life will always be this way.

But what about the snow? Such a remarkable difference from last week. And spring has never failed to come.

Not too many weeks from now our driveway will look like this.

Buds will burst through.

Pretty soon, it’ll be time to put out ferns.

One day, all our bare spots will be filled in, and the things we don’t understand will be made clear. Click to tweet

If you’re going through a difficult season right now, I’d love to pray for you. Maybe I’ve been there too.

Love,

Julie

Me and Chicken Little

Sometimes I’m just like Chicken Little, the annoying little chicken who ran around saying, “The sky is falling! The sky is falling!”

Watch the first few seconds, and you’ll understand.

I tend to expect the worst. A phone call from an unknown number might mean a family member’s gone to jail. An official-looking envelope could be alerting us we’re the victims of identify theft.

You just never know.

The other day our son Thomas said, “Bye, I’m going to Brittany’s.”

An hour later Brittany, his girlfriend, called–crying so hard she couldn’t talk. My heart flip-flopped.”Brittany? Honey? What’s the matter?”

No words. Only muffled sounds.

I chewed my lip and paced the den. “What is it? Say something. Are y’all okay?”

“Miss Julie, Thomas wanted me to call you…”

Why can’t he can’t talk? I assembled the clues and came up with the most likely scenario. There’s been a wreck. The ambulance  is probably on the way.

The sky is falling!

Then I realized Brittany wasn’t crying.

She was laughing. “Thomas says to tell you we’re coming over. He’s rescued a rooster.”

I imagined my son’s midsection bleeding from wrestling a wild chicken. “Did it spur him? Roosters can be–”

“Oh, no ma’am. He’s fine. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

Here’s the rescue squad. We welcomed Ernie, a fine-looking Rhode Island Red, to his new home.

The truth is, I have received heart-stopping phone calls from my teenagers (middle of the night calls are the worst!), and discovered scary letters in the mailbox, and a couple of family members have done jail time.

But Chicken Little was wrong that day. The sky wasn’t falling.

So early this morning, as Ernie crowed, I resolved to change.

Whatever comes my way, I’m going to smile, expecting only the best.

Love,

Julie–Chicken Little no more!