A Wintery Afternoon in Iowa

It's 38 degrees and rainy outside. . . a lot warmer than the 5 degrees and snowy weather that greeted us when Bethy and I arrived here a few weeks ago. Dreary nonetheless. Winter weather leads to reflections. I was born and raised in San Diego, and spent most of my adult life in the Philippines. Neither of those places experience a full-on winter. But my mom moved to Iowa fifteen years ago when she retired, to be close to my step-father's family. Here in Ida Grove, a small town surrounded by farms, all the cliches about winter come to mind. The trees are leafless, the fields are dead and brown, the squirrels are hiding, the birds have flown south. It is a season of death, of rest, of waiting, of hiding. Yet at the same time, it is a season of hope. Even now, the trees are getting ready to bud out. The farmers are anticipating the new crops they will plant in the spring.

Somehow, it seems appropriate to be losing my mother to cancer during the winter. Her body isn't a hospitable place for her soul anymore. She gets weaker and weaker day by day. But she has hope and faith that things will get better. She is counting on the promise of God for new life, for eternal life. Inside, she is the same upbeat, peppy, friendly person she has always been. But outside, her body is failing her. She can't go and do all the things she loves to do anymore.

Just yesterday I was reading in 2 Corinthians 4:7 -- We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves. I am so thankful that my mother has a relationship with that powerful God, through her faith in Jesus Christ. Her body is a fragile clay jar, but her heart loves the Lord.

And I am so thankful that God's Word addresses the questions I have in my own heart. The passage continues on in verse 8 and 9, We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. . . We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Lord, I don't understand this. Bill and I just returned to the Philippines after a very long time away, and almost immediately I lost my dad. I went back to San Diego for his funeral. I had just returned to the Philippines and was in the process of settling again back home in the tribe when the news came about my mom. Perplexed? That's me. I don't understand the timing. Couldn't God have led us to stay in the U.S. longer, or have taken my parents earlier? But as I reflect on winter, on seasons, on God's love and care and goodness, I have hope, too. This is a season in the life of our family. A season of death. I'm losing both my parents in a few months time. Elisa and Bethy are losing two grandparents. But we know there will be other seasons. Seasons of sunshine and life and birth and buds and fruit. And so, through this winter season, I will continue to walk and to wait with the God I have come to love and trust so much.