The Winter of My Content

by Donna Poole

There I was, enjoying the Fourth of July parade, when a freak snowstorm came from nowhere. Sometimes it rains on the parade, but snow? The first few flakes quickly turned into a white-out. As winds howled and the temperature dropped sixty degrees in six minutes, bystanders rushed for cars. The parade halted, and participants hurried to find the closest shelter.

Okay, so that didn’t exactly happen, but it’s true metaphorically speaking. There I was, enjoying the long, lingering summer of my life. Winter was far away, or so I thought, and the blizzard caught me unprepared, still wearing my summer flip-flops.

Are we ever ready to get old? Isn’t old always at least twenty years older than we are? That’s how I used to think. I’m still shocked at the little old gray-haired lady who stares back at me from the mirror, and then we both start singing, “The little old lady from Pasadena, go Granny, go Granny, go Granny, go!” And we laugh.

This is, I think, just the beginning of my winter; it could be the end. I don’t know. No one really knows how long a winter may last. When I was young, I planned this winter in my imagination. I’d be a briskly walking-still jump roping-up for any adventure-grandma. When I wasn’t having adventures with my grandchildren, I’d sit by a fire and read and write. I’d enjoy the short but sweet winter twilights and then smile myself to sleep with happy memories of yesterday and robust plans for tomorrow.

I didn’t imagine cancer, or what it would do to dreams of the kind of old lady I’d be. I still have adventures. It’s an adventure to get from the bed to the car in one piece! It’s an adventure to fit all the doctors and test visits into the calendar. Sometimes, when I’m feeling extra daring, I even take a shower…and skip the nap after!

This is not, however, the winter of my discontent. I’m not unhappy. I find happiness in different ways than I’d imagined. Today I woke from a nap to hear feet on the stairs. I don’t know which of the three people who live with me was going upstairs, but I smiled. It made me feel warm and happy to hear footsteps on the stairs and know they belonged to someone dear to me. Had I been the jump-roping-always-busy-grandma I’d imagined; I don’t think I’d have ever known how sweet it is to hear footsteps of a loved one on the stairs.

Small blessings bring grace to my heart and instant tears to my eyes. Today my sister told me my brother-in-law, who’s alone in a hospital in New York City and very sick, was out of an expensive skin cream he really needs. The hospital doctor, without being asked, went to a drugstore, used his own money, and bought the cream. When my brother-in-law tried to pay him, the doctor said, “Nope. We’re good.”

I’ve been thinking about that often today, the kindness of strangers, and how much more it means when someone is sick and hurting. God has many earth angels, and as someone once said, “Human kindness is Jesus showing His hands.”

I’m grateful for human kindness and hundreds of other small things I never thought much about before. Smiles. Waves. Hugs around the knees from a tiny granddaughter. A text from one of my adult kids or in-law kids. The changing slant of light with the seasons. The quiet, country view out of my bedroom window.

Yes, I’m sick. Yes, I’ve lost people dear to me. Yes, this is hard. But when I lie in my cozy bed, even when my sore bones don’t exactly let me get comfortable, the music starts. Under the ice of my storms, a spring stream flows, and it sings to me. It sings of grace and mercy. It hums of love and laughter. Sometimes lyrics run through my mind, as eclectic as I am: old hymns, Ron Hamilton, southern gospel, old time country, music from high school. Occasionally I sing along; “You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.”

With each new medical test, I’m like the Grinch’s cartoon sleigh tipping back and forth on that impossible precipice of a mountain.

Which way will I slide? And yet, I’m at peace. I’m wrapped in a cozy blanket made of the kindness of family, friends, and strangers. The music grows faint sometimes, but it’s always there when I get quiet enough to listen. The winter winds howl, and everything freezes, but the spring stream flows under the ice, and I am contented.

These days the stream under the ice is lit with tiny white lights and sings Christmas songs to me.

The winter of Jesus’s life came when He was so young. The shadow of a cross fell over the manger; His birth was the prelude to His death. Yet what joy He found along the way, even though the road led to Calvary.

“Those who watched Jesus dying saw nothing but loss and tragedy. Yet at the heart of that darkness the divine mercy was powerfully at work, bringing about pardon and forgiveness for us. God’s salvation came into the world through suffering, so his saving grace and power can work in our lives more and more as we go through difficulty and sorrow. There’s mercy deep inside our storms.” –Timothy Keller

Oh, that’s for sure. There’s mercy deep inside our storms. And that’s why this is the winter of my content. God is at work, and all is well.