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This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalm 118: 24)
We spend a lot of time talking about weather in Minnesota. We become preoccupied by too hot days or days that become “unseasonably” this or that temperature. The worry of sudden snow. Weather reporters in our state work compete to be “mostly right” (some of the time) or at least “somewhat correct,” occasionally. Sometimes it seems the luck of the draw. We often doubt them, and check our phones weather apps to see if predictions are reliable, or if we will be suddenly surprised by a rain cloud or gusty gale or flurry of white flakes. Personally, I now check my phone app every time I leave the house, because I cannot trust simply looking out the window into a perfectly sunny day. Because in Minnesota, that could mean it is time for your winter coat and hat. It could be thirty below…
The other day, in the late afternoon, the sun was bright and the trees were blowing as I headed out with our dog to walk around the lake. I was glad to be able to venture from home and hoped for the revisit of spring to clear my head and to brighten my grumpy disposition. Of course, my phone’s weather app had said it was 50 degrees. But what did that mean? Was it a “warm fifty” like when I visited California in the middle of our Minnesota February deep freeze? When it felt like a thawing out as I wore sundresses and shorts while my California family was in parkas and Ugg boots. Or was it like the “first fifty” of fall after our warmest, most humid, summer—when I needed a knit hat, scarf, gloves and first turned on our furnace on at home?
Of course being the planner that I am, I planned for this outing. Even though Mia was in her fur coat (regardless), I donned on layer after layer (one’s that could be carried if needed): a packable light weight down vest and a hoodie that would cover my ears if the wind around the north side of the lake decided to try to take the baseball cap off my head. I started my Apple Watch “outside walk” app to collect data on our pace and number of steps (information that I never do anything with later) and out we went. At first, my nose was nippy and fingertips wished I’d grabbed my mittens. The windchill factor must have been great. But the kids across the street were still riding their bikes, sleeveless. So things appeared to be fine. To them I must have appeared to be prepared for a winter storm.
As we walked the 2.5 miles, I discovered that each section of the shore had different weather. I walked a few meters through summer, (and I took off my vest) then a few steps of chill (and I covered my head). All the while, Mia kept prancing with a wag of the tail and a smile (yes, we know when she smiles) on her face. She didn’t care that the wind blew her facial fur up over her eyes and she could hardly see, or that rolling sticks tripped her up now and again. After all, the squirrels were chasing each other and all the smells of autumn were whipping through the air. So much to absorb and be thankful for.
Watching my dog revel in the day, I decided to stop worrying about whether I was cold, or hot, or if the sun would set too soon on our walk. I stopped checking my phone app to see when that would be— if we’d make it back home before dark. I started noticing the sun as it shifted in color (the hues of orange and light pink) as it determined where to settle behind the trees. I noted the leaves and pine needles on the ground pile collect in patterns like modern artwork on the pavement. I could smell the faint hint of maple on the breeze that reminded me of my childhood in Pennsylvania, when our fifth-grade class went on a field trip, tapped maple trees, and made maple candy on a cast iron stove. I remembered my parents faces when I returned home from that trip, so happy to see me—tasting the candy that I had helped make. And this memory (that I hadn’t had in so long) made me smile, too.
For a time I thankfully forgot all the paperwork I had to do, the soreness in my joints, that my uncle’s Parkinson’s is worsening, our world of chaos and war, how so many people are dying daily, or that my parents are no longer here to talk about it all face-to-face. And I remembered;
This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalm 118: 24)
That regardless of the weather of the day, or how many times it changes in twenty-four hours— whether we get stuck in puddles in our favorite shoes or wind sneaks up and steals our hats—we must rejoice and be glad in each one. Through the hardships and boredoms, through our sunny dispositions and our grumpiness, through all the events of our lives and the changes that come…in each day we should wag our tails as fur flies in our faces and sticks try to trip us; we should count all the squirrels playing, the kids riding bikes, and smell the maple on the breeze. Because this is the day that the Lord made, rejoice, give thanks for every breath that allows us to remember the joyful moments, the love and the smiles of our loved ones, too.
Amen.
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