Oh Baby It's Cold Outside

I was chilly, my toes just wouldn't warm up, and I kept bumping up the heat. I finally reached for the scrumptious pullover that I got at the Sam's Club for $9.41, a shopping miracle. Little 3-year-old Addison reached over last night, felt it and said, "Comfy cozy." Exactly. Before long, I was warm as toast and the world was right. Upon waking too early this morning, I stretched myself into believing I should go ahead and get my lazy self to the gym. By 7:00 I was back home, dressed and eating breakfast, had listened to two great podcasts on the role of God's sovereignty and suffering, and then Mozart's Concerto in C at least three times. I'd go back to bed, but I'm on a roll. Maybe I'll actually get my list done today.

I wrapped my cold fingers around my Miami Starbucks mug that I stole from one of my sons, the spicy, cinnamony smell of Dragon Spice Chai Tea wafting up. I indulge myself in big boxes of this tea because it's something I actually like, even though it doesn't involve sugar or honey. I used to put gobs of sweeteners in my beverages, helping lead to my near insulin-incarceration. I didn't just drink coffee, I wolfed down something more like brownies in my cup. All that yummy, so blissful every morning, but was it really? Delight on the front end, misery on the flip side. If I hadn't helped myself to so much "comfort," I could've found equilibrium or the notion of moderation. As it is, I'm now paying back for all the heaps of indiscretion I coddled. But it's okay. I could still be stuffing down doughnuts and crumpets with my extravagantly-embellished coffee if I wanted to, but I'm not. There are so many other kinds of comfort to be found when you can actually get yourself out of the chair. In the mornings, I get on my poor old knees and say, "God, I can't do this. But You can." Mercifully, He is my help and my stay.

My dear neighbor Jackie, who lives in Alaska most of the year, says that it's colder in Georgia than in Anchorage, because of the blustery, wet humidity. I believe her. We slog through weird winters, where it will act like spring for a day or two and then plunge into wet, ungodly, shrieking wintertide for a week until we can't take it any more. We pray for an early spring. The Winter Solstice, shortest day of the year, sneaks by on December 21st and then we breathe a sigh of relief as Christmas rises and peaks. New Year's Eve and Day rush on through and then we get back to our slogging. But Easter's in sight over the horizon and all hope is not lost. Folks that aren't from here and have endured terrible winters with snow, ice and multiple clothing layers think that we are very silly with our whining about the cold. But have you experienced a front porch in the Deep South, with lemonade and a neighbor dropping by? Or a segue to the Panhandle with a stroll through white sand and then the plunge into seaglass water? I know we're supposed to enjoy all the moments, but I'm laboring for daffodils, bunnies, and a new grandbaby (#9) coming in the Spring. To every thing there is a season, turn, turn, turn...