Embracing the seasons

   
See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come. –Song of Songs 2:11–12
     
     
As I write this—Friday morning—the day is overcast, rainy, cool, dreary. Patches of snow linger about the hillsides, in crevices—wherever the ground is in more shadow than sun. Where there isn’t snow, there’s mud or spongy, marshy terrain.
     
On days like this I’d rather strap on my CPAP mask, pull a pillow over my head, snuggle beneath a quilt, and succumb to slumber. Or bury my nose in a good book. Anything but look outside.
     
As I glance out the back patio door, though, I see clusters of green and white snowdrops pushing up through the rotting leaves of the forest floor behind my house. And I know the daffodils will soon emerge below the stone wall in the front yard.
     
I’m so ready for spring.
     
But not this wet, muddy, mushy mess that’s spring in these parts. Which is why spring is my least favorite season.
     
But it is what it is.
     
Not all good and not all bad.
     
Just like winter, which really isn’t as bad as we make it out to be.
     
Winter is a time for growing things to rest, for animals to hibernate. It’s a time when I spend long evenings crocheting, reading, or doing something I’d feel guilty doing when the weather’s nice and I can get outside without falling and breaking something.
     
Every season has its good aspects and not-so-good aspects. What we choose to focus on determines whether or not we find the joy in the season.
     
Just like life.
     
I’m not just referring to the seasons of life as we tend to think of them—childhood, youth, adulthood, middle age, and finally our sunset years.
     
I’m talking about the seasons of life-change—when our lives change in ways we don’t plan or want. A financial setback. Illness. Disability. A wayward child. A broken relationship. Betrayal. Death. Divorce. Anything that leads to brokenness—a broken heart, a broken spirit, broken dreams. Seasons of pain and drought and floods of tears. Seasons when the roads are impassable and we can go no further. Or, as the old timers say, when we get the stuffing knocked out of us.

As I write this, I'm thinking of a dear writing colleague and friend who recently lost her husband of 35 years to cancer. I'm thinking of one of my little flock who is the caregiver for her mother, who has suffered a series of strokes, each one leaving her more debilitated than the last one.
     
These times, like seasons, are not here to stay. They, too, will pass.

We can spend the season bemoaning our fate, questioning God, and making ourselves more miserable.
     
Or we can embrace it for what it is, remembering that if we have chosen to believe in a sovereign, loving God, we know whatever He allows in our lives has a purpose we may not understand or see this side of eternity.
     
Child of God, push on in faith, trust that all things WILL work out for your good (Romans 8:28), and remind yourself that nothing can separate you from His love (Romans 31–39).
     
Only when we choose to embrace each season for what it is do we find the daffodils of hope and the snowdrops of joy sprinkled in the places only the SON can reach.
     
     
Thank you, God, that You are the One in control of the seasons of my life. Help me to embrace whatever season You send, knowing Your plan and purpose is for my ultimate good. Amen.

More tea: Read Ecclesiastes 3:1–8

Looking for a speaker for your event? I have a slew of topics listed on my SPEAKER PAGE. If you don't find one you're interested in, I can develop one especially for you. Email me at michelehueybooks@yahoo.com. I'd love to connect with you.

CURL UP AND READ:

How about a love story of an Army nurse and a Dustoff pilot who meet, fall in love, and get married while on their tour of duty during the Vietnam War, only to have him go MIA and show up 40 years later with amnesia? (The Heart Remembers) 

Or the story of a 50-something woman with a lackluster marriage who wants to fall head over heels in love just one more time before she dies? (Before I Die) 

Or the story of a retired couple who up and sell everything to travel the country in a fifth wheel? (Fifth Wheel series of short stories available for download)

Or maybe you'd prefer something inspirational for your devotional reading. (God, Me & a Cup of Tea for download and in print)

The Eyes of Faith

Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him. – Luke 24:31 (NIV)

He was hanging there, dying now, for all the world to see—

A sinner caught, condemned to die, never again to be free;

When another man was nailed and raised beside his cross of shame—

With a crown a thorns, a robe of blood, and a crowd that mocked His name.

Wasn’t this that preacher man—he’d seen Him once before—

And eaten of the bread He’d made beside the Galilean shore;

And wasn’t it just the other day He rode into the town—

To a cheering crowd who laid their robes before Him on the ground.

Now they shouted, “Save yourself—and us if indeed You are who You claim to be—

We’ll believe if You come down off that accursed tree.”

Suddenly he understood and cried, “Can’t you see?

Lord Jesus, will You remember me?”

He was hanging there, dying now, for all the world to see—

A sinner caught, forgiven now, and finally set free.

Through the eyes of faith he saw the King of all eternity—

Who said, “Today you’ll be in Paradise with Me.”

Grant me, dear Lord, the eyes of faith that I may see You in every aspect of my life. Amen. 

Read Luke 23:32-43

The Road to Nowhere

 

 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. – Romans 8:28 NIV
      
      
Eighty years ago private landowners in Swain County, North Carolina, were forced to give up their property, which had been in their families for generations, when the government created the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Entire communities had to relocate. Access to ancestral burial grounds was lost when the Fontana Dam was built and the route was submerged beneath the waters of a vast manmade lake.      

To appease the people, the government promised to build a road through the park that would give them access to the ancient cemeteries. And so construction on Lakeview Drive began—and halted six miles into the park when environmental issues arose. The promised road ended with a tunnel and has remained that way to this day.

      
Although eventually the environmental issues were resolved and the feds paid the county $52 million in lieu of finishing the road, the locals, feeling betrayed, renamed Lakeview Drive to “The Road to Nowhere.” A sign was erected: “Welcome to The Road to Nowhere. A Broken Promise. 1943 – ?”
      
We visited The Road to Nowhere last fall during our camping trip to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, and we walked through the dank, dark tunnel. True, the paved road ended when we emerged on the other side, but I wouldn’t call it “nowhere.” Golden trees framed hiking trails which wound through the mountains. True, this wasn’t what was promised, but it is what it is.
      
Life can be like that. Sometimes the road we’re on doesn’t lead us to where we expect or where we want to go. Sometimes we run into a dead end. Broken promises break our hearts and our trust. We can’t see how we can go on.
      
But it doesn’t lead to nowhere. All roads lead to somewhere. Just sometimes not where we’d chosen.
      
The older I get, the more I understand the wisdom of accepting and adapting. And moving on.
      
I’m not saying it’s easy—giving up those dreams, rebuilding your life after hope has been shattered.
      
But it can be done—with guts, gumption, grit—and God.
      
You see, I believe in a God who can transform what’s bad in your life into something good, what’s broken into something usable. A God who can turn your weakness into His strength (2 Corinthians 12:9) and loves you far beyond what you can comprehend (Romans 8:35–39).
      
He’s always in your corner (Romans 8:31) and wants to bless you exceedingly abundantly above all you can ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20). He’s a faithful Father who showers you with fresh mercies every morning (Lamentations 3:23) and who doesn’t break promises (2 Timothy 2:13).
      
So, dear child of God, “do not fear. Do not let not your hands grow weak. The LORD, your God, is in your midst, a warrior who gives great victory. He will rejoice over you with gladness, he will renew you in his love; he will exult over you with loud singing as on the day of a festival” (Zephaniah 3:16–17)
      
Remember that it’s God who’s in control, no matter what road you find yourself on.
     

      
Remind me, Lord, as I walk this uncertain road called life, that every road I walk with You will lead to somewhere wonderful. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Lamentations 3:19–26

My bargain tent

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. – Isaiah 43:2 (NIV)
      
      
This year, with the publication of my first book of fiction, I decided to have a booth at the Groundhog Festival. I’d sell autographed copies of all my published books, let folks know about new and upcoming releases – and “meet and greet.” After all, one chapter of The Heart Remembers takes place at the Groundhog Festival in Punxsutawney.
      
I’d thought to borrow the required 10x10 canopy tent to set up on my spot from my son, but his didn’t have sidewalls. And I wasn’t sure what condition it was in, since a wind storm blew it over last summer during one of our cookouts, and we couldn’t get the frame down. So it braved the long winter in the yard.
      
My long-suffering hubby managed to fix the frame and attach the canopy, which had sustained a tear or two when it caught on the garden fence. He set it up on the patio and told me to check for leaks the next time it rained. Well, we got the rain, all right, along with some pretty gusty winds, which blew the whole thing over onto the rocks that covered the back slope of the patio. I managed to unhook the canopy from the frame but couldn’t get the frame folded. But I needn’t worry – without the canopy it wasn’t going anywhere – except to the scrap heap because when fix-it man came home from work, he said this time even he couldn’t repair it.
      
So online I went shopping for a 10x10 canopy tent with sidewalls that wouldn’t make this whole impulsive affair cost more than I had in the bank. I wanted to at least break even.
      
I found a nice one with “windows” on eBay for $139.99, free shipping, easy setup.
      
When it arrived a week or so later, we erected it in the backyard. It went up easily, although Dean said he wanted heavier, sturdier stakes.
      
Good thing. Because the week of the Groundhog Festival was fraught with storms. Oh, hubby had it tied down good, and it didn’t blow away.
      
But the roof leaked.
      
The opening day of the festival had us scrambling to cover my display table and wishing for an umbrella. I’d have to take down my display every night when I closed up and take the books home so the damp wouldn’t damage them.
      
I kept my eye on the black clouds and the forecast all week, imagining the worse.
      
And failing to trust the God who watches over me.
      
Shame on me.
      
Because the only rain we got all week (except Sunday, when we discovered the roof wasn’t waterproof) was one night or early morning when I wasn’t there. All I had to do is wipe off the table and set up.
      
All week long I fretted, but each day the storms passed us, and each day I sensed God whispering to me, “Trust Me. I got this.”
      
I broke even. But more than that, I learned – again – that even when my faith falters, My God is faithful.
      
      
You won’t always hold back the storms, Lord, but I know You’ll be with me in the midst of them. Thank You, Abba Father! Amen.

 

Special-Tea: Read Isaiah 43:1–7; Psalm 91

You want me to do WHAT?

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters,[a] whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. – James 1:2–4 NIV 
      
      
As I child, I accepted the story of Abraham offering his son Isaac on the altar to God without question. But when I became a parent myself, I had lots of questions.
      
I never questioned that God intervened and spared Isaac’s life. Indeed, God never meant for Isaac to be slaughtered on the top of a barren mountain on a stone altar. The whole thing was a test to see who Abraham loved more – his son Isaac, whom he waited a hundred years for, or El Shaddai, the God who promised him this son and who’d made the impossible possible.
      
I never questioned that Abraham knew God’s voice. I never questioned his mountain-size faith, which made him eligible for the “Hall of Faith” in Hebrews 11.
      
But I always come away from the story questioning my own faith and obedience, feeling small next to this giant of faith who obeyed without hesitation, without question.
      
I don’t know if I could do what he did. I mean, we read the story with hindsight, knowing the ending, knowing God stayed the hand with the knife ready to extinguish the life of his beloved son.
      
But what about before?
      
Abraham didn’t know God would intervene. Hebrews 11:17–19 tells us, “It was by faith that Abraham offered Isaac as a sacrifice when God was testing him. Abraham, who had received God’s promises, was ready to sacrifice his only son, Isaac, even though God had told him, ‘Isaac is the son through whom your descendants will be counted.’ Abraham reasoned that if Isaac died, God was able to bring him back to life again.” (NLT)
      
This test was for Abraham’s benefit, not God’s. Omniscient God knew the result beforehand. He knew Abraham’s heart.
      
Perhaps Abraham loved Isaac more than God. Perhaps Abraham needed to be reminded Who was to come first in his life.
      
Centuries later, God would issue the first of the Ten Commandments: “I am the LORD your God … You shall have no other gods before Me” (Exodus 20:1 NKJV).
      
And centuries after that, God’s own Son would reinforce that: “He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me” (Matthew 10:37 NKJV).
      
A hard teaching.
      
But not impossible.
      
God isn’t saying not to love our parents, our spouses, our children. He’s saying, in the words of Jesus, to “love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment” (Matthew 22:38–39 NKJV).
      
I need frequent reminders, too, to put God first in everything – my time, my finances, my relationships. To this ideal I struggle daily.
      
Someday I hope to say the words of St. Paul: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7).
      
      
Show me, dear God, how I can put You first today. Amen.

Special-Tea:Read  Genesis 22:1–14

Hacked!

The LORD is my light and my salvation? whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life?of whom shall I be afraid? – Psalm 27:1 (NIV)
     
I knew something was up when I logged into my HughesNet account Tuesday morning and read an email from Yahoo that I’d reset my password. I thought for a moment, trying to recall anything I may have done that would have inadvertently changed it. No, nothing. “If you didn’t authorize this change,” Yahoo wrote, “click here.” I clicked.
     
Not only had my password been reset, but 200-plus emails that had been in my Inbox were gone, as were all the emails that had been in the Sent box. Not good. Then someone forwarded me an email that I supposedly sent, asking me, “What’s up?” The subject line read, “SAD NEWS from MICHELE HUEY.” The next thing I knew, emails were flowing in, all wondering the same thing, all with the same forwarded message: I’d been robbed at gunpoint in Spain and needed money to get home. 
     
Now, the fact that the email I supposedly sent was one long, run-on sentence; the grammar, punctuation and other mechanics were horrendous; and the syntax atrocious, should have been a dead giveaway. Surely I’m a better writer than that. Which is why I received no less than a dozen phone calls and at least two dozen emails about it.
     
Nosing around further, I discovered that another email account had been set up, supposedly mine, but misspelling my name. My profile had been changed (I am now a 22-year-old New York City gal), and my address book was empty.
     
I’d been hacked. Everyone whose email address had been in that address book received the same damsel-in-distress email.
     
There went my plans for the day, as I spent it changing passwords, answering phone calls and emails, and ignoring a demanding, intimidating do-list. At one point, I felt desperation and frustration sinking their claws into my spirit. I’d had emails regarding financial matters in there. What if the hacker had gotten sensitive information and my accounts were now compromised?
     
Now, I’m not one to see the devil behind every tree, but when things start flying in left and right, I know ol’ Beelzebub is cranking up the heat. There had been several crisis points over the past few months, but this one was a real doozy. I must be doing something right.
     
As my panic mushroomed, a Scripture verse popped into my mind. I grabbed my Bible and opened it to Psalm 46 and read—prayed—nice and loud so the enemy would know where I stood: “God is my refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore I will NOT fear . . .”
     
The panic abated. It would be all right. I knew Who was in control.
   
Folks who know me know that had I really been robbed at gunpoint—in Spain or elsewhere—I wouldn’t ask for money. I’d ask for prayer. It is, after all, along with the Holy Spirit and the Word of God, the strongest power on earth, in cyberspace—and everywhere else.
   
Dear God, when things come flying in left and right, and the panic begins to rise, remind me to be still and know that You are God. Amen.

Special-Tea: Read Psalm 46

Walking in the dark

Let him who walks in the dark, who has no light, trust in the name of the LORD, and rely on his God. – Isaiah 50:10 (NIV)

After an evening of good eating and family fun at my son and daughter-in-law’s next door, I decided, around 9 p.m., to head home—alone, since my husband wasn’t ready to leave.

The last time I’d walked home from their place after dark, the moon reflected on the snow-covered fields. This time, however, there was no moon and no snow to light my way. The night was as black as black could be—one of those nights that I could hold my hand inches from my face and not even discern its outline.

Since I had no flashlight, I decided, rather than stumble along the two-tenths of a mile of dirt lane, to take the shorter path across the field between our houses. If I fell, the grass would make for a softer landing than packed dirt strewn with gravel.

But in the inky darkness, my eyes couldn’t find where the path began. Once I was on the familiar walkway, I knew I could find my way home. But darkness makes even the familiar become unfamiliar. Holding my arms out in front of me, I gingerly stepped toward what I thought was the path. A couple of steps later I nearly took a tumble when I tripped over what felt like a large clump of sod. After a choice muttering or two, and a few more cautious steps, I faintly discerned the path from the overgrown field.

Fortunately I made it home without falling—or encountering the polecat that visited our environs the previous night.

Walking by faith, not by sight, can be pretty scary. Even when I’m on familiar ground. I know there’s a path that will lead me to where I want to go, but in the inky blackness of circumstances, I can’t find it. There are moments I’m too afraid of falling to take one step. But I can’t stand there in the dark and wait until morning. And I can’t turn around and go back because the path behind me is just as dark. I must push on, one careful step at a time.

But it’s in the dark that faith and trust grow strong and tall and resilient. If I knew what was ahead, I wouldn’t need faith. I wouldn’t have to trust in a God I can’t see. Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see (Hebrews 11:1). If all we experience is light, we’d have no need of faith. And it is our faith, more than anything else, that pleases God (Hebrews 11:6).

In life there are times we have no choice but to walk in the dark. But we do have the choice whether we’ll walk that black path alone—or with God, who promises never to leave us (Hebrews 13:5) and for whom the darkness is as light as the day (Psalm 139:12).

Dear God, when the path before me is inky black and fear paralyzes me, remind me that I am not alone, for You are always with me. Amen.

Special-Tea: Proverbs 3:5–6; Psalm 139