Frosty...A Friend Indeed!

Remember when Frosty was brought to life by a magic top hat on Christmas Day? From the first time I watched Frosty the Snowman, I think I understood some of the most distinct elements of friendship. Frosty loved Karen with a pure, sacrificial love. Even in the earliest moments of their relationship, Frosty watched out for Karen's well-being because he loved her. He made many choices that elevated Karen above self.

Frosty brought laughter and fun into Karen's life from the very moment he took his first breath. Whether they were marching down the streets of town, outsmarting an unthoughtful magician, or attempting to communicate with a crazy rabbit, Karen's heart was warmed by Frosty's endearging personality!

Frosty promised to return each Christmas to visit and play with Karen. Frosty's promise echoes God's promise to each of us. He promises to always be with us--living in our hearts. Frosty promised to always be there--living in Karen's heart. How loving warm promises are!

I am enjoying this must see classic today with my students. It is my effort to bring a little bit of magic and love to their life. Don't let the season pass without filling up a cup of cocoa, stoking the fire, and popping your most beloved holiday classic in. After all, we never truly grow up, do we?

A Few of My Favorite Things...

I absolutely love The Sound of Music. My favorite part is when Julie Andrews sings "Favorite Things." It just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. This morning, I thought to myself, "Why not consider a few of my favorite things?" Here a few of my favorite things and I hope after you read, you will share your list of favorites!

* Wet kisses on my cheek from my neices and nephews
* Naked trees in the dead of winter
* Thick frost on windows
* Burning wood in a stove
* New fallen snow
* A midnight sky painted with stars
* The first taste of watermelon in the summer
* Old, familiar friendship
* Love
* Weeping Willow trees
* Hot chocolate with whipped cream
* Warm chocolate chip cookies

Please share your favorite things and bring a bright spot to the holiday season!

Is It Wrong to Question God?

When I was 12 years old, my favorite grandfather passed away.

As I sat beside my youth leader, I asked, "Why did he have to die?" She replied, "God was ready for him to be in heaven." That was a good answer and it made sense. At least it was as good as any answer that an adult could have given me. I was scared that God might want me in heaven sometime soon.

I was in elementary school when my aunt and uncle decided to get a divorce. As I sat beside my aunt, I asked, "Why did Uncle Dennis leave?" She said, "He doesn't love me anymore." I wondered if he had stopped loving me, too.

I was in middle school when I first understood about child abuse. My mom was on jury duty and the person on trial was being accused of abusing their child. As I sat beside my mother, I asked, "Why did that mom hit her child?" She replied, "She is full of anger and cannot control herself." I was glad she wasn't my mother.

I was in college when I heard about a girl being raped. I was naive, but I figured out what it meant. As I sat beside my sister, I asked, "Why would a man do that to a woman?" She replied, "They think they need to control other people and women are easy targets." I understood that I was a target, too.

I'm a 38 year old teacher now. About a month ago, one of my students lost his dearest uncle--his hero. As I have tried to minister to him over the last few weeks, I realize that I don't have very many answers. And the ones that I provide are weak at best. He looks at me with those doubtful eyes and I know he realizes that I absolutely have no clue as to what the right answers really are. But, he accepts them and finds some degree of comfort. My question is: Is it wrong for me to feel terribly angry about having to answer these questions to begin with? Not angry at the student, but at the situation. Why would a seemingly healthy 26 year old farmer die in his sleep? And, I believe my student considers whether he might die when he's 26 years old.

I am what they call in the eduation field an "existentialist." I fight to know the answer to all of life's burning questions. I have shared some of the burning questions of my life. To this day, I still have all of the questions that significant people in my life attempted to answer. But, the question mark lurks in the corner of my mind. So, I'm not so settled on these issues, I suppose.

What do you think? Is it wrong to question to God? Is it a big, fat sin for me to question death, abuse, rape, and divorce? I know....another question from an inquiring mind.

Five Reasons I Dig Jesus

SelahV graciously tagged me to share five reasons why I "dig Jesus." I love to talk about Jesus; so this is an easy request!

~~1: He endured the cross and died for me. It is completely breathtaking and incredible that Jesus took my sin upon Him to secure a place in God's Kingdom for me! No one else has ever loved me in that way.

~~2: He walks beside me every step of my journey. The fact that I'm never alone truly amazes me. He travels the mountains, the valleys, and the plateaus with me. He is my constant, never changing companion; the only friend I truly need--to me, that's awesome!

~~3: He thinks I'm beautiful. Beautiful on the inside, which is what really matters. Jesus "digs" what He sees in my heart. A heart sold out to teaching. A heart breaking for the lost. A heart beating for His Mission. A heart melting for the depravity of the world. A heart strengthened by God's power. A heart soaring for my family.

~~4: He helps me relax. My mind rarely stops racing--worries, thoughts, and emotions war for my attention. But, I love it when Jesus whispers, "Chill out already! Take a load off and think about Me and you. How 'bout a quick Bible drill to remind you of my promises?" He also says, "Come to Me and I will give you rest and relaxation." Basking in the Son is truly intense experience.

~~5: He reveals Himself to me in a million completely original ways. I see Him in the dewdrops on rose petals, the moonbeams bathing my garden at midnight, the eyes of my neices and nephews twinkling with mischief. I feel Him in the hugs from my earthly father, the kisses of my mother, the rain that wets my face in thundershowers. I hear Him in the rush of the wind, the roar in a seashell, the claps of thunder.

TAGGED, I'M IT...

I was tagged by SelahV to play an information disclosure game.

EACH PERSON TAGGED starts with: 7 random facts/habits about themselves. You must write on your own blog about the seven things as well as the rules. Then you need to tag others and list their names. Then you leave them a comment on their blog telling them that they've been tagged and to read your blog. I definitely do not know 7 bloggers; so I suppose this will be for a few curious eyes. Here's the first thing you should know about me. I don't follow directions very well--the Number 0 below is just free information.

Number 0: I swore I would never do a job that involved working with children. If you notice the picture in this blog, I spend every day in a school--teaching 5th grade students! Never say never.

Number 1: I am deathly afraid of clowns (Lord only knows what they hide behind all that make-up!), caves (Wound up knee deep in one as a child--bad experience), and cats.

Number 2: I met Big Daddy Weave at a concert. When one of them said, "Hey, how are you doing today?" I could only say, "Thanks." With his question, I could have taken that conversation to a completely different level!

Number 3: I participated in world missions by traveling to Poland to teach in an English Bible camp.

Number 4: One of the literary characters I admire most is Jo March from Little Women. I just wonder when my Professor Bear is going to show up??!!?

Number 5: I am one of the lucky people in the world to have a lifelong friend. We were born one month apart, slept in the playpen together, and went all the way through school in the same classes. I do not know life without her. Even to this day, we see each other at least once a week. She knows the best and worst of me--I'm glad she's the only one.

Number 6: I sold one of my homemade carrot cakes with caramel and cream cheese icing for $175 at my school's fall festival.

Number 7: I am an existentialist--can't stand to not have the answers to all of my burning questions. Actually, it keeps me awake most nights!

Childhood Friendship

Have you ever known a person that didn't disappoint you? I have...

Once upon a time, I met a friend that was truer than a brother. He soared into my life for a very short season, and impacted me in a million different ways. Chad became the brother I never had. He also turned out to be the one person who truly never disappointed me.

Many years ago, I pinpointed the exact source of our connection. It had to be God. He knew that our hearts would have to be connected across great distance and time. I consider this the one perfect friendship I have had. I loved Chad because he first loved me. He put no conditions on our relationship, and that made "playing the game" with him so much easier.

Even as young as we were, our thoughts and words were deep. Our friendship was the best kept secret in our little country church. If people had known, they would have never understood. People in a small town simply do not understand that a boy and girl can be best friends. He drew pictures of dogs and trees for me. I wrote poetry for him. After reading my poems he always said, "You make a grown boy like me cry." I think the words were always etched on his heart. Once, he drew a picture of a tree with the sun shining bright behind it. I said, "I've never seen this tree before." Chad's beautiful reply was, "You will when we live side by side in Heaven." I regret that I have lost the picture, but the memory is so very vivid. That tree has been planted in Heaven.

There are so many things I wish I had told him. But, what could I have told him that he didn't already know? Our feelings were sealed deep inside us long ago. Besides, I wouldn't have wanted to disappoint him. I'm glad that Chad had only good things to meditate on concerning me. I praise God that Chad remembered me in my youth. I rejoice over the exuberant joy I feel when I think of him now. I am deeply moved when I close my eyes and God affords me the opportunity to come face to face with my friend--my childhood friend.

Pondering Prayer

God has called me to an extremely noble profession. At least, I believe He has. I have the privilege of working with the bright young minds we call our future. Their 5th grade brains are brimming with knowledge that far surpasses what I knew even in the early stages of high school. The powers that be in our department of education have gone to great lengths to determine every detail our students need to know at each grade level. Our professional Bible is called Core Content and it's what a teacher lives by.

I don't know if you realize this or not, but Congress starts their sessions with prayer. That isn't really surprising to me. After all, our country was founded on the belief in God and His power...In God We Trust. My second grade teacher believed in God and the power of prayer. I know that because she talked about God and how powerful He was. Also, we said a blessing each day before lunch. Beyond second grade, I'm not quite sure what my teachers believed about God, but I do know what they believed about Columbus, John F. Kennedy, and Adolf Hitler.

In June of 1963, while Christians across the United States were daydreaming, the Supreme Court listened and acted on atheist, Madelyn Murray O'Hare's, arguement concerning God, prayer, and The Constitution. Her dreams came true when God was evicted from schools. Since that day, prayer been outlawed in schools across the United States. That makes me intensely angry. Why?

I do not have the luxury of saying a blessing with my students before lunch. I cannot have moments of silence when we are remembering a national disaster. I could not speak of how God would help those who were victims in the Virginia Tech tragedy. But, it hits closer to home than even those examples.

I cannot pray with a student that tells me their mother or father was too harsh on them the night before. I cannot pray with a student when mammaw or pappaw dies. I cannot pray with a student when their beloved pet gets ran over or simply dies. I cannot pray with two quarreling children and ask God to solve their problem. I cannot pray with a student who doesn't know where their next meal is coming from. That's why I'm angry.

How do you feel about prayer in school? If we allow prayer would it open the door to a host of other religious obligations? Christians must figure out a way to keep God in school--I believe that with all of my heart and that isn't in Core Content. [TNTNKY, copyright 2007]

A Three-Legged Dog, Two Traveling Turtles, and One Motherless Opossum

"The purity of a person's heart can be quickly measured by how they regard animals."

-Anonymous

I have absolutely never liked animals. I won't even pretend to like them. Somewhere in my farthest memories, I may have thought a penguin was cute. However, that's about the extent of my animal appreciation.

Allow me a moment to share how I have come face to face with a few of God's more interesting creatures...and I do mean interesting.

For every child I have, there is a dog or iguana or guinea pig that I must pretend to adore. There are the endless stories of how they went against all odds, climbed a tree, and caught hold of their kitty cat just before it danced off the end of a branch. I recall the shuddering astonishment the day I announced, "I do not like animals. I am scared of animals. We will not bring animals in for show and tell." Gut wrenching moans and faces drawn into question marks filled the classroom when I puncuated my animal speech by saying, "By the way, I do not and will never own a pet either." With that, the room fell silent and the pet topic was packed away with all of the other things that would never enter the classroom on my watch. All good things come to end, and that's exactly what happened to me 5 months after my animal sermon.

I got a new student. That can upset the apple cart on any given day, but what if the new student crashes the party by daring to mention...PETS??!!?? Oh, he was innocent--I'll give him that much. He had no idea that my heart could shift into overdrive at the mere mention of animals. Talk about the heebie-jeebies!! Finally, his annoying discussion of the blasted beasts evolved into the forbidden question. "Ms. Pollock, can I bring my turtles, Mr. T and Killer in for show and tell?" My reply was that I would have to get back to him. After all, turtles do carry a variety of diseases that would instantly place everyone involved in immediate medical danger. Would you want to tell all those parents that we had an outbreak of Salmonella? Right. So, he didn't mention Mr. T and Killer the rest of the week--we were headed for the weekend and I could already see us gliding right through Friday without any surprises, shocks, or Salmonella.

I ushered in Friday by greeting my students right outside the classroom door. One by one, they filed in, neglecting to hug me or shake my hand as was the custom. I was beginning to feel just a little bit overlooked and unloved. Quietly, they crept into the room and inquisitively watched my every move. My new student was the caboose that day. He chugged around the corner carrying an aquarium--an aquarium WITHOUT a lid and inhabited by turtles. I felt my throat closing up. My eyes started watering. I wanted to run and hide under my desk. He had disregarded my request to get back to him on the topic of turtles. So, I did what anyone else in my shoes would have done. I dropped my arms, took three steps back, and allowed my student to enter the classroom...turtles and all.

I decided to get the worst over and allow him to show the turtles first thing. That way, we could tuck the aquarium away on the shelf--out of sight, out of mind. The events that unfolded in the next fifteen minutes helped chisel away some of the ice I had built up in my heart for animals. Kurtis was transformed into a different child as he handled his turtles with kid gloves. His megaphone mouth and bouncing body were replaced with a gentle whisper and calculated movements. He demonstrated how Mr. T would pull Killer in a "car." The car was a rollerskate that he had rigged up to look like a vehicle. He had spent countless hours perfecting the turtle show. I touched the turtle's shell. It was a mosaic of intriguing shapes--an obstacle course for the human eye. I searched Kurtis at that moment. His eyes beamed with awe and wonder. He sat, paralyzed, as the turtles rounded the final lap of their parade. Kurtis was proud, confident, and calm. God's provision gave Kurtis moments of peace from his attention deficit problems. The turtles filled in the lonliness during the countless hours of waiting for dad to get home.

Several weeks later, I was conferencing with Hunter. We were trying to come to a consensus on a positive consequence for demonstrating self-control and finishing homework. After many minutes of brainstorming, we hadn't reached a decision. Suddenly, Hunter rushed toward me like a bolt of lightening! He zig-zagged past chairs until he reached his destination: my desk. Hunter proudly declared, "Ms. Pollock, Ms. Pollock, I know what my reward can be!! I can bring my dog, Big Man in to visit the class!!" As his mocha-colored eyes peered straight to my soul, I was torn. "Fine. The dog can come, but only for a short visit and it must be at the very end of the day," I proudly declared. Eventually, I added the following conditions: dad or mom must bring Big Man to school, he must be on a suitable leash, the dog must be gentle and have received all shots, and the dog must be potty-trained and clean. In my mind, I confidently considered the likely prospect that mom and dad would blow the plan by being unwilling to bring the dog to school. I was feeling "large and in charge" at the end of that day.

The next day dawned and I felt fairly certain that mom and dad weren't going to really agree to bring the dog to school. I whisked into school without a care in the world. Low and behold, at 2:15, I got a call from the office saying that I had visitors. I told them to bring it on. Hunter's mom approached the door first and we motioned them to come in. I could have never prepared myself for the sight that I had when Hunter's dad entered, holding the dog's leash. I was overtaken by the calmness and beauty of the dog. In a strange way, Big Man reminded me of my grandfather--strong yet gentle. The dog's eyes were filled with a certain wisdom, and it showered me with contentment and peace. Ironically, the dog only had three legs. Hunter proceeded to share the story of how Big Man was injured when a car hit him. Also, Hunter had perfected 6 or 7 doggie tricks with the brawny Boxer. I chose the seat next to Big Man and affectionately stroked the dog as Hunter proudly shared. That day, I learned that Hunter could start something and finish it. He had demonstrated self-control and perseverance while training his dog.

With only twenty days of school left, I thought I was probably finished hosting "Animal Clinic." But, wouldn't you know a 5th grader was in the wings waiting to prove me wrong? Yesterday, Kasey approached my desk. He reminded me of a tiny pebble skipping across the water on a warm summer day. His smile indicated he had classic news to share with me. He whispered, "Ms. Pollock, guess what I found last night?" Kasey's a pure country boy so the list of options was endless. After several bum guesses, he offered the answer: a baby opposum. His story detailed how the moma had been shot and the baby had been left defenseless to face the harsh elements of the Kentucky woods. Furthermore, he shared how he was nursing the baby opposum with an eye dropper. I told him how proud I was of him and wished him luck on keeping the baby alive.

He started to walk away, but he turned back around. His baseball cap was cocked a little sideways and his hands were shoved in his pockets. Then, the question came. "My dad doesn't work today. He could bring Squirrely Girl in during our morning break." I replied, "Kasey, I don't know if that is a good idea. They have very sharp teeth and we do not know what the baby has been exposed to." Kasey's head dropped. I recalled how his parents had suddenly divorced last summer, how his best friend's father had died during combat in Iraq, and how his mom and dad shuffle him back and forth at their convenience. Something came over me, and I found myself giving the go ahead for him to make the phone call.

Squirrely Girl showed up in a tiny shoebox. She was wrapped in a washcloth and the eye dropper rested in the corner. The opossum lay in the box, breathing hard and fast--eyes still sealed shut. Kasey cautiously held the baby up for each student to catch a glimpse. Miraculously, the tiny creature calmed down and stopped breathing so hard. I stood back from the scene. Kasey's eyes welled up with tears when his dad said he had to leave. Kasey reminded me how important it is for all creatures to have a mom. He said, "Sometimes, I kind of feel like that opossum. Especially when my mom is with her boyfriend." Kasey explained that it just isn't right when you can't even count on your mom. Throughout the day, Kasey talked to me about Squirrely Girl and how he was just about in the same boat--he feels abandoned. For the first time this year, Kasey fell into my arms and hugged me. That was my thanks for allowing his "baby" to visit school.

My year has been about so much more than teaching. I have seen students stumble and fall, but I have also been there to rejoice when they got back on their two feet and took off again. I can understand now why animals are so important. I have witnessed the high level of respect Kurtis, Hunter, and Kasey have for animals. I have seen the purity in their hearts for God's living creatures. I am a better teacher and person for having loved not only my three students, but the creatures they dared to bring to school. [Copyrighted, 2007, TNTNKY]

Obsessed or Devoted?

I have been told that there is a thin line between obsession and devotion. People say that obsession is just beyond the brink of sanity. I acknowledge their wisdom, but I am still willing to share a few of the obsessions in my life--chocolate, cappaccino, snow, and WONDER WOMAN.

If we were to step back in time to when I was about 8 years old, you would find me in front of the television. I was totally fascinated and mesmerized by Diana Prince (a.k.a. Wonder Woman). She had so many endearing qualities! Who wouldn't be captivated? With each and every episode, Diana Prince shed her serious, business-like persona and was transformed into a legendary heroine. I, for one, longed to be just like her. This longing was so strong that I even insisted on dressing as Wonder Woman on Halloween one year. I had the cheap mask that absolutely smothered me. I wore the plastic costume that was an extremely pitiful imitation of the real thing. Sadly, there was no truth lasso with the costume.

Wonder Woman's character was based on good overcoming evil. My obsession with her was rooted in the qualities and capabilities that allowed her to truly overcome evil--every time. That's one of the things that I loved about her...she never lost.

My favorite part of every episode was when she captured the bad guy and forced him to tell the truth. How did she do this? Why, she used her truth lasso, of course! No one could fight off the power of Wonder Woman's golden truth lasso. I suppose that thoughts of the lasso bring me to the point of true confession.

Although some will say that obsession carries a negative, unhealthy stigma, I do not believe that I was unrealistic about who and what Wonder Woman was. However, I was obsessed and with that realization, it allows me to analyze my character a bit. Have I ever been obsessed with God? Do I desire to wrap myself in His truth? Would I fight to the death to spend time with Him? Do I dwell on His goodness--His desire to overcome evil? Am I humbled by His power?

Almost everything that I have ever been obsessed with could be catergorized as things I could live without. These obsessions--these desires of my heart only bring temporary satisfaction. The TRUTH is, all of those obsessions only lead to loneliness and misery. Perhaps, I can conclude that obsession is a bit unhealthy!

Webster defines devotion as, "An act of personal worship apart from that which takes place in a congregation." God requires a sacrificial, committed heart from me, and I've known that since I was 7 years old when I gave my life to Christ. Why do I have such a difficult time being good to the One who gives me everything? The very air I breathe, the job I love, the family that I adore, and the eternal life of a royal heir. He is so good to me. He is so devoted to me. I must confess that He is something that I really can't live without. That is precisely what separates obsession from devotion for me.

Wonder Woman has been resting in the caverns of my memory for several years now. My obsession was laid to rest when something more exciting came along. For the life of me, I can't really remember what that something was. If I could allow that obsession to be replaced so easily, was it really worth anything to begin with? Should I have ever had the desire to be just like her? I pray that God would fill me with the desire to be just like Christ. I can spend my life chasing after obsessions, or I can come clean and give God the devotion that He so urgently deserves.

II Chronicles 16:9 states, "For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the Earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to Him." Oh, that He would rest His heavenly eyes upon me and find me not obsessed, but fully devoted to Him. May I be the kind of "wonder woman" that He has called me to be--not the kind that feeds on the world's obsessions. [copyrighted, TNTNKY, 2007]

Digging for Revelations

If anyone's life was ever characterized by trees, mine is.

In my selfishness, I assume that God placed trees in my path for my own good pleasure. There really is nothing in the world like tree-watching. My earliest and fondest tree memory dates back to 1978. The place to be during every season of the year was my granparents' quaint home in a rural farming community.


You couldn't call their place a real farm, but they insisted it had all the proper makings of one. In reality, my grandfather had one horse named Whiskey, a jersey cow named Jersey, and a handful of very nonproductive chickens. There was a so-called barn, but looking back now, I think it would count more as a tool shed. There was a pond as well, but it was so far back on the property it didn't really matter whether it was there or not.

My grandmother planted multitudes of rose bushes all over the yard. The smell was sweet and intoxicating as it spilled out across the yard. When I reminisce about the "farm," memories are still new--authentic as black and white photographs tucked away in albums.

On this so-called farm was a gigantic Sugar Maple tree. It was strategically located beside the tiny, white house. Honestly, the tree was the first thing you saw when you drove up the driveway and ascended the hill. As season gave way to season, the tree stood at attention, waiting for the seven grandchildren to march back in for a visit.

In winter, we would stand at the windows and breathe on them so the heavy frost would melt. Sometimes we even placed our warm cheeks and hands on the frigid glass in an effort to defrost the window and catch a clear view of the tree. We had an inexplicable need to steal one quick glance at the magnificent, naked Sugar Maple that had surrendered to Mother Nature's icy grip.

Spring came, and with it, tiny buds burst forth from the crooked fingers we called branches. They resembled my grandmother's fingers. We'd dream of Summer.

Summer tip-toed in and we invaded the rug of downy grass beneath the Sugar Maple. Leaves brought our tree full circle and we were shaded from the scorching heat. We'd tell stories, share secrets, and make plans to strip the nearby grapevines of their precious fruit. We ate fresh grapes and drank sweet tea under the tree. It was our meeting place--the spot where reality melted into fantasy.

There was an enormous exposed root that jutted out from the front of the tree. Within the root was a pearl--a treasure! Well, it wasn't an actual pearl (I can admit that 29 years after the fact!), but it definitely looked like one. We were determined to dig that pearl out of the Sugar Maple.

We imagined the pearl was full of magic. We dreamed that it would make us rich. Oh, how our imaginations played tricks on us! Our mission was to dig that pearl out of the tree. We dug until we had bulging, scarlet blisters on our fingers.

Fall blew in and the Sugar Maple slowly undressed. We would wildly pile the leaves into huge mountains and dare each other to jump in face first. I would jump for a while, but the wind would whisper, "Come back, faithful one--come back to the secret place." I obeyed. I believed that the mystery of the pearl would eventually be revealed to me. My childhood passed, but a revelation never came.

My sister and I went back to that farm a few years ago to take a picture of the tree. We did want a picture of the tree, but I also wondered if the pearl was still there. I had to see the pearl again. Actually, I planned to return home with the pearl.

We didn't get the picture or the pearl. We didn't even get to dig in the root of the tree. Did I forget to mention that I took a screwdriver, table knife, and ice pick along with me? One of the owners had cut down the Sugar Maple tree. The tree, the root, and the pearl were gone forever. I am not ashamed to say that I cried. How dare they take a chainsaw and render my memory to mere sawdust?

The tree had encased secrets, laughter, and the innocence of a time long past. Could my memory be more than a tree? I stood in the yard and glimpsed the silhouette of a child peeking out of the window. I looked over my shoulder and watched the shadow of a child feeding horses through a barbed wire fence. I closed my eyes and the smell of roses made me deliriously happy. My revelation had come.

Fantasy melted into reality. I finally understood that the entire place was the essence of my memories--not just the tree. The place that just happened to have a towering Sugar Maple. The place that my grandparents' called their farm. [copyrighted TNTNKY, 2007]

"Wondering" Through Winter

Winter is my favorite season of the year.

I love the bone chilling temperatures and the icy wind that threatens to take my breath away. I wait with childlike anticipation for the crusty leaves of fall to make their spiraling journey to the sleepy, stone bed that we call Earth.

It thrills my soul to see those stately trees standing there strong even when they have been stripped of their glory. Their gnarled fingers taunt me as they beckon a recognition of God's presence.

If God takes the old away from the trees to make way for the new after Winter, then does He not do the same for me?

I want to stand like those trees--stripped of my glory, beckoning others to recognize God's presence in my life. I don't want the credit for them seeing His presence. I just want to make my Father smile because of my obedience.

I have felt a little bit cheated this Winter because our snowfall has amounted to about 1/2 an inch. I find myself in that perpetual cycle of begging God for snow! Snow, like rain, brings refreshment and cleansing.

Many people consider Winter the end of all things good. I choose to see it as the beginning of all the best. It takes us back to the basics and we start things at scratch again. With Winter, comes the promise of a new beginning. As a believer, it gives me hope that I can be forgiven, stripped of all the ugliness, and made pure again to walk in the light of the Lord.

I'm still praying for that cleansing snowfall that will not only purify me, but will also give me a few extra hours in my warm bed. Mostly though I pray that God sees my life as a tried and true testimony of my love for Him. [copyrighted,TNTNKY,2007]