Transitions

Spring is beginning to arrive here in central Alabama. We've had an unusually long, cold, wet Winter. This weather has had a pronounced emotional effect on me for some reason this year--the cold, rain, and seemingly constant grayness of the days have given me a prolonged case of the blues. It is a mental and physical weariness, a yearning for warmth and sunshine. The kind of feeling that makes me want to just walk out the door, get on my bike, and strike out for a more southern location, like Mexico or some other tropical clime. Some place with warm breezes, blue skies, and pretty dark-haired senoritas walking down dusty streets to the market. But since my dear wife would not appreciate such behavior, I stay put and hold on for the warmer temperatures and explosion of color that is the Spring here.

The signs of her coming are appearing. Red maples are beginning to bud, their reddish-purple hues the first inkling in the canopy of the Alabama landscape. The pear trees will be next, followed by dogwood and then a seemingly overnight explosion of blooms from azaleas, rhododendrons, and mountain laurel along the creeks and streams. The Artist's pallet of purples, reds, yellows and greens will explode over these rolling hills. A fine yellow dust will cover every outdoor surface, as the pines take part in their annual aerial intercourse. And last, but certainly not least, the pecan trees will leaf-out. Real country folk, those who still pay attention to nature and know how to read her moods and vagaries, know that Winter is never really over until this happens.

Life's transitions are rarely easy. Change is often fraught with struggle. Such is the case with Spring in Alabama. As the atmosphere warms and the landscape changes, Winter attempts to have the final word in the argument. Cold fronts sweep down from the north and collide with warm, moisture-laden air moving up from the Gulf of Mexico. The collision of these opposing air masses produces thunderstorms and tornadoes. Other places have their own unique calamities: earthquakes, wildfires, and hurricanes. We have the whirlwind, a much more unpredictable and finicky adversary.

Tornadoes are an awesome force of nature. They tear off roofs and toss cars, level buildings and snap off one hundred foot tall pine trees like an elementary school kid breaking a #2 pencil to prove his strength to his buddies. And their destruction is unpredictable--seemingly random. A tornado dropped out of the sky a couple of years ago on the central Alabama town of Prattville, plowing through a mile or so of the landscape before lifting back up to the sky. I once lived there for a couple of years, so I am familiar with the streets and neighborhoods. A day or two later, I looked at some aerial photos of the destruction. The condition of houses on one street were especially fascinating: three houses in a row leveled, next house untouched; roof gone on the next one, the next untouched. It was like some sort of cosmic pinball machine had been unleashed on the sleepy neighborhood.

A tornado is an equal opportunity destroyer. A couple of years ago, a tornado leveled a high school in Enterprise, a small south Alabama town. School was in session at the time, and several students were killed. In 1992, a tornado destroyed Goshen United Methodist Church in Piedmont, Alabama. The church was having their Palm Sunday service when it hit. Twenty members of the congregation were killed, including six children.

Such incidents inevitably invite theological tensions in the minds of many. Some are quick to blame God, as if He sits at some celestial computer keyboard, His finger poised and trembling above the "smite" button. I don't buy what these people are selling. For one thing, from what I've seen and heard at many churches, I believe He'd level a lot more with the whirlwind if that was His mode of operation.

It's easy to blame God for things you don't understand--that don't make sense. But don't blame if you never thank. I thank Him for many things: being raised by loving parents, a beautiful red head who has slept beside me for many years now, two fine sons, being able to live in beautiful Alabama, and for this Spring.

Enjoy the transition this year--but watch the sky.