A Change of Seasons

A surge of spring that actually feels a bit like summer has given this strange season a kick into green. In the aftermath of a bit of rain and with temperatures in the upper eighties, it seems like an almost overnight change in local terrain. Fields of wheat are suddenly thick and green with heads of grain forming. Fields of corn have sprouted up with tender stalks standing eight inches tall. Last week, the fields were nothing but dirt with miles of parallel tracks showing the trail of planting. Huge stands of cottonwood lift solid plumes of leaves above the river bottoms. And in town, there are closer reminders.

Trees, bushes, vines and stems have sprouted blooms. Dormant lawns suddenly need mowing. There is a little patch of bamboo that stands behind the bronze tiger at the entrance to Cowley College’s administration building. Grounds crewmen sheared it to the ground a few weeks ago. In the frustrating chill of this year’s “can’t quite make it to spring yet,” the green sprouts endured a month-long phase of suspended animation. In the past ten days, they’ve leapt up to two feet high or taller, growing inches a day now.

Perhaps you’ve known that sort of sudden growth in your own life. Perhaps experienced those seasons of incredible green, been flush with faith and seen hidden seeds spring up or dormant buds suddenly erupt into abundant thriving.

Perhaps you’ve also known those other times, the long seasons of drought and unending winters of cold and sullen barrenness. Looked deep inside and wondered how you could feel so parched and withered. Perhaps wondered how you’d make it through.

For the seasons of abundant growth and vigorous renewal, let us yet be humble and grateful. Let us be mindful of others and attentive to service, assuring that the abundance with which we are blessed yields blessing for others. In the fallow seasons, let us be patient, endure with hope and be unafraid to ask others for the intervention of caring prayers. Remember previous seasons of trial and testing and God’s mysterious ways of providing what we needed.

Even when we walk in the dust and chill, let us remember that the earth will have its seasons and we will reap a harvest. If we do not give up.

H. Arnett

About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Ark City, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-nine years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-eight grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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