First snow of a lifetime

Busy, hustling start this morning. People to see, things to do. A dusting of snow--our first of the winter, and our granddaughter's first ever. Stoked the fire, feeding glowing coals from the night before, and warming the cabin from the effects of the cool night. I took food to our German Shepherd; she shivered out of her igloo doghouse, wiggled while waiting for me to rub her head and pat her side before she had a brisk breakfast, then retreated to her shelter.

I had a cup of coffee, on my feet, packed my laptop for the day, and headed out the door. And then I came alive. Something in me caused me to look up and see the smoking chimney at the only other home nearby. White smoke puffed into the cool air and turning back, I saw the same blossoming from our own flue. Warmth from the tended fire at home and next door where my granddaughter was starting her first day with snow...it was warm inside.

Don't know why it seemed worth smiling about, but I did. Don't know why it seemed worth writing about, but I am. The ride down Sams Hill was a little more fun than usual today, turning a bit sideways toward the end. But the fire is burning back home, and when I return there to sleep tonight, I'll tend it--and try to remember to smile again.

Sharing and Tending

I remember the first time I wrote a poem as a child. It was hard to share it with anyone. Perhaps the thought that had meant so much to me--that thing that had pushed me to write in a less than straight-forward way--perhaps it would seem trivial to the reader. (Like telling a girl you liked her, and her returning the note having checked the box that indicated she didn't like you back.) Sharing something exposes you to risk.

And reward. Yesterday I got a note from a woman in Florida who had ordered and read my book--The Runaway Pastor. She said she had started reading at 9 PM and finished it the next morning at 4 AM, after reading all night! That felt good.

But even more gratifying feedback has come to me from some pastors who are sharing raw edges of pain the book exposed. Saying it was "just a little too close to their own living..." for comfort. Yet they read and benefited. One pastor said: "There's a great deal of truth in that fiction." Another resolved to turn his heart back toward family. One pastor and wife told me that friends at their church had recognized their crashing relationship, and had stepped in over the past year to love them toward wholeness. I fear most won't be so fortunate.

With November, the cold weather has returned. Almost like there's a clock that is wound into a new time zone by the change of the month. So I've been lugging in firewood from the pile, and getting fires started in the stove (using the Boy Scout's fire-starters I bought from a friend at church). Yesterday I walked into a warm cabin, stoked the fire and reveled in the task of being a fire-keeper.

The colder seasons are a good reminder to tend the fires that are most vital to our lives. Love your family. Love you Lord. Slow down enough to love the life you've been given.

And as The Runaway Pastor enters its second week of availability, I hope that somehow what I have shared will inspire others to tend to the priorities that our maker would have us keep central.