When a terrible snow storm struck my town in January, I imagined myself out in the midst of it, snow-caked scarf trailing behind me, face into the wind, being scoured clean by the blinding snow — sort of an east-coast, middle-aged, female version of John Muir, the 19th century North American explorer.
He was known for climbing to the top of a Douglas fir in the middle of a wild Sierra Mountain wind storm, holding on for dear life and riding out the tempest so that he could know and experience wind.
I, however, am known for making pot roast and home made ice cream on snowy days, so I peel another carrot and decide to use the food processor instead of the hammer to pulverize leftover candy canes for the ice cream. Through the driving snow, I see that Lady Cardinal, out on the deck rail, is having her own issues with the wind.
Usually perfectly groomed in her red-orange lipstick, today her stylish, coiffed tuft of feathers is out of control, as, back to the wind, she struggles to maintain her dainty footing. Then, unexpectedly, the wind gusted, pivoting her where she stood, end for end, tail for beak.
This is the work of the wind, untamed and turning us around when we least expect it. For the Christian, everything we do has its basis in the Wind of Spirit as both the Hebrew and the Greek render “spirit” as “wind” or “breath.” Apparently, John Muir had the right idea about how to relish wind, how to take it all in.
Today’s sideways snowstorm is a visible effect of wind, as are the sculpted drifts and tossing tree limbs. Typically, like Lady Cardinal, I want life on my own terms, predictable as the ingredients in my crockpot, without the bother of being upended by an invisible force beyond my control. How much I miss! I wonder what would happen if the Wind of Spirit was set free to do something in me that only God could do?
Now, don’t be looking for me at the top of any fir tree, riding out this storm! But what if, trusting the Wind to do His work, I relaxed my white knuckle control of the universe and let the beauty of Wind change my direction? What if the way to ride out life’s storms, the way to live “life in the Spirit” is to wait for the Wind to blow — and then to move.
“You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you . . .” Acts 1:8
Michele Morin reads, writes, gardens, and does life with her family on a country hill in Maine. She has been married to an unreasonably patient husband for nearly 30 years, and together they have four sons, two daughters-in-love, two grandchildren, and one lazy St. Bernard.
Michele loves hot tea and well-crafted sentences, poems that stop her in her tracks and days at the ocean with the whole family. She laments biblical illiteracy, advocates for the prudent use of “little minutes,” and finds joy in sitting at a table surrounded by women with open Bibles.
She blogs at Living Our Days because “the way we live our days will be, after all, the way we live our lives.” Michele is a proud member of The Redbud Writer’s Guild, and has shared her thoughts with joy at Desiring God, (in)courage, The Perennial Gen, SheLoves Magazine, Living By Design and elsewhere! You can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.
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