Having never lived in or near the Arctic or its polar opposite, I’ll grant that I’m no expert on cold weather. Therefore, when I say “It is bitterly cold” here in northeast Kansas, I realize that some might sneer, “Bitter? Man, you don’t even know what cold is!” Granted, but I’m still going to argue that for this old Kentucky kid, minus eight is close enough to pass.

When Randa and I headed out to the barn this morning, the wind chill was a negative twenty-one. And, indeed, I do view that as a negative.

But what a great day for gratitude!

Our power hasn’t gone out before, during, or after the storm. Our house is dry and warm. We have good clothing, warm boots, heavy duty gloves, and mittens. Scarves and knit head coverings that we used to call “toboggans.” And, after the chores were done, hot coffee and fresh biscuits with butter and jelly.

So, we’ll give thanks and yet pray for those who were not spared from the devastation and destruction of ice. The images from Oxford, Mississippi are nothing short of heart-wrenching. Crystal-shrouded piles of trees and branches and power lines and utility poles. An almost Arctic tinge to temperatures and millions without power.

In the deepest throes of this world’s woes, we find our faith tested, our compassion questioned, our genuine devotion divulged. It is a challenge to remain calm during the calamities, to hold to hope even with frozen fingers, and to count our blessings during the testings, to bless those who curse us, and to remember that without love, we are nothing.