Beginning Again

"But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself." - Philippians 3:20-21

My goodness, it has been a wild couple of weeks here in Texas, hasn't it?! For those of us in San Antonio snow is almost always a rare and beautiful sight, but unfortunately the ice and long stretch of below freezing temperatures that accompanied this storm have left quite a bit of destruction in their path. The power outages, water shortages, frozen pipes and empty grocery shelves have been the topic of conversation of late, and likely will be for some time, as officials try to sort out the "hows" and "whys" of the staggering lack of preparedness that contributed to this mess.

This week Texans across the state are beginning to see the impact of the storm on their plants and trees as well. I've never been a fan of the color brown; I'm a green gal myself, but around me in my neighborhood and community the brown of what is dead and dying is all I see. Even mature trees and large hedges, established for decades, have succumbed to the bitter cold. Inch thick ice has devastated the landscape around the hill country, felling branches and uprooting heritage trees. It isn't a pretty sight.

It's hard to look at the aftermath of the blank and barren and think of having to begin again. It occurred to me yesterday, as I was gazing out on my backyard at all the dead leaves carpeting the ground like some giant confetti blast went off overnight, that this landscape and its metamorphosis is somewhat a metaphor for life.

Before the events of the past two weeks, I was giddy with excitement over our pink jasmine vines absolutely bursting with a profusion of pale pink blooms. These vines climb over the section of fence nearest our bedroom window. They're one of the first things to scent our yard, and in anticipation I could almost smell the heady fragrance that would soon waft through our little house as they unfolded.

I was equally stoked about my Meyer lemon tree. This little guy was purchased only two springs ago when we first moved to the casita. Last year I got one lemon. One. After fertilizing with special citrus tree food faithfully over this past year, it rewarded me this month with nearly thirty buds! I was over the moon. Lemon linguine and lemon curd are so amazing when made with these juicy gems!!

But alas...

But alas, it was not meant to be. Despite my valliant efforts to protect and warm their roots with hay and swaddle their tiny buds with cotton sheets, they simply could not compete with the weather. They stand brown and barren with the rest of the landscape.

Sometimes life is like that, isn't it? We are sailing along drinking in the sunshine, leaves glossy and green, setting buds right and left... and BAM!... out of nowhere we get the diagnosis, or the flood waters rise, or the company downsizes, or the stock market tanks... and we are left brown, crumpled, and barren. We stand there looking at all the devastation and we wonder how... or if... we can ever begin again.

We can.

We will.

We will because there are only two choices when such devastation occurs. The first is to throw up our hands, to surrender in defeat, but that gets us nowhere. Living in a wilderness is harder, much harder, than the alternative. The second choice is to be brave, to dig deep, and to begin again. Whether we are starting over in a new job, a new home, a new town... or a new normal, we push forward planting seeds, setting roots, because it's what people of faith do. We follow the example of other faithful believers who, for whatever circumstances, found themselves in a "wasteland" and began again: Adam and Eve, Noah, Abraham, Joseph, Daniel, Ruth, Moses, Paul.... The list goes on and on.

We begin again because as believers we know who walks with us through every storm, and because we know the sure and certain hope of what comes after this life.

I had a reminder the other day on Facebook of a post I had written last year around this time. It must have been after a particularly drab and cold stretch. This is what I wrote: "Thank you, God, for the gray days. Without them I would not so look forward to the sunshine." In this fallen world there will be trials. That's a given. Storms will batter and will sometimes leave the landscape of our lives brown and barren, but our loving Father always makes a way through those storms. These setbacks in life are the gray days, but one thing they do better than any other is to help us look forward with absolute joy to that glorious day when spring and life blooms eternal, when there is no more devastation, sickness, sadness, division, hurt, or death.

God has promised that He will make all things new, and He always makes good on His promises. God never gives up on us. He is willing to give us chance after chance to begin again, no matter how many times we've messed up, leaving His heart devastated. Because He begins again... we begin again. We move forward through the muck and the mire to greener pastures, all the while fixing our eyes on Jesus, the One who secured for us the ultimate inheritance... forgiveness, salvation, eternal life.

So, when the weather warms and these gentle rains stop, I'll grab my rake and my shovel. I'll get out in the yard and gather the fallen, broken bits of brown to place in the compost pile. These remnants will provide for new growth, new life. Spring will come again with its world of possibilities. It always does, and because my God is proficient at turning the barren into the beautiful....

I too will begin again.