East Orrington Congregational Church

Pen of Power

To download the latest edition of the Pen of Power click HERE!

For earlier issues, go to the ARCHIVES page.

Psalm 46:1-2 (NIV)
“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear . . . 

THE LESSON OF A STUBBORN SPRING

I am beginning to think spring in Maine has become more of a suggestion than a season. One day the sun shines brightly enough to convince us life is changing. People suddenly appear outside in shorts, grills are uncovered, motorcycles  Return to the roads, and someone inevitably says, “Winter’s over!” Then the next morning arrives at 34 degrees with rain blowing sideways, and suddenly everyone is back inside searching for the flannel shirt they confidently packed away three weeks earlier. At this point, it is almost humorous.

But maybe there is something quietly beautiful hidden inside this stubborn spring. Life itself feels that way sometimes. Warm one moment, cold the next. Hopeful on Tuesday, heavy by Thursday. Laughing at supper while carrying burdens no one else can see. And yet somehow, grace keeps showing up in the middle of it all.

The older I get, the more I realize life is rarely just one emotion at a time. We can miss someone deeply and still laugh wholeheartedly. We can feel exhausted and grateful in the same hour. We can carry concern for our families, our world, our health, and our future while still noticing the goodness of a sunset, a shared meal, or a child laughing somewhere nearby. Maybe that is one of the great lessons God teaches us over time: life is fragile, complicated, beautiful, and temporary all at once. Which makes the moment in front of us incredibly important.

I sometimes wonder how much life we accidentally postpone. We postpone joy. We postpone rest. We postpone forgiveness. We postpone phone calls. We postpone telling people we love them. We postpone sitting quietly with God because we assume there will always be another day. And perhaps there will be. But perhaps this moment is holier than  we realize.

Jesus seemed remarkably present wherever He went. He noticed birds, children, flowers, strangers, fishermen, weddings, meals, storms, tears, and interruptions. While everyone else rushed through life trying to get somewhere important, Jesus kept stopping long enough to truly see people. That challenges me, because I can rush through a day so focused on responsibilities that I miss the very life God placed right in front of me. A conversation. A laugh. A walk. A quiet cup of coffee. A moment on the porch listening to birds argue over absolutely nothing. Recently I found myself watching a couple of male mallards carrying on in the pool over a female, making all kinds of noise and commotion, and for a few moments I simply sat there smiling at the gift of being present enough to notice it.

There is wisdom in learning to live the day we are standing in. Not ignoring pain. Not pretending life is easy. Not becoming careless. But understanding that this ordinary day, even with its worries, interruptions, aches, and uncertainties, is still a gift from God.

Some of the brightest moments in life do not happen when everything is perfect. Often, they happen in the middle of difficult seasons. Around hospital beds. During long talks. Through tears. Around kitchen tables. At funerals where stories somehow bring laughter back into the room. During moments when someone simply sits beside us and says, “I’m here.” But they also happen in ordinary moments that begin completely wrong. I still remember one family trip Nancy and I planned years ago. The packing was hectic, everyone was stressed, and honestly, I was already grouchy before we even got on the road. Then about twenty￾five minutes into the drive, Nancy suddenly realized she had forgotten something important back at the house. I turned the car around in frustration, probably muttering under my breath the whole way home. But somewhere in the middle of all that aggravation, something shifted. We laughed. Really laughed. And somehow that trip, despite the rocky beginning, became one of those near￾perfect memories you carry for years. Funny how life works that way sometimes. Those moments matter. Perhaps more than we know.

As summer slowly approaches, and very slowly this year in Maine, I find myself looking forward not only to warmer days, but to slowing down, even if it is forced upon me, enough to enjoy the company of Christ again in the ordinary rhythms of life. The sunlight. The lake or pool. The laughter of family and friends. The smell of food on the grill. The sound of our kids playing somewhere in the distance. The quiet moments when the soul finally exhales.

And maybe that is the lesson this stubborn spring has been trying to teach all along: cold does not last forever. Neither do difficult seasons. And neither do the moments placed before us.

So laugh when you can. Extend grace quickly. Sit with people longer. Take the walk. Eat the ice cream. Watch the sunset. Pray honestly. Love deeply. And do not miss the life God is giving you while waiting for perfect weather.

Summer eventually comes to Maine. But more importantly, Christ keeps coming to us, through mercy, grace, friendship, forgiveness, laughter, and the ordinary moments we are often too rushed to notice.