Shifting

I have found the change of season here in Wisconsin startling this year. I stepped on a plane September 15, in the midst of an Indian summer and dove head-first into full-blown summery Cameroon weather... but when we returned October 6, the world at home had changed completely. Cool (too quickly shifting to cold) temperatures, leaves carpeting the backyard, and a spectrum of colors splashed across the trees. My brain screeched to a halt. What. The. Heck.

Anyone who knows me well knows I don't face extreme temperatures with grace. I really ought to live in San Diego where it is 72 and sunny most of the time, because that's my sweet spot, weather-wise. Kingdom Worker's director, Bill Meier, had warned me of the heat to expect in Cameroon. So I geared up mentally as well as I could - and, all things considered, I think I did pretty darn well with it. Oh, don't get me wrong. It was HOT. And more humid than I've felt in years. A sheen of sweat covering my body by 7:30 a.m. (doing absolutely nothing) was not uncommon. But I found the abrupt intrusion of cold weather (comparatively) infinitely harder on my mental transition back to home.

Before I had left for Cameroon, I had been resisting any mention of fall with everything inside me. I used to love fall. I loved the crispness in the air, the crunch of leaves under my feet, the earthtones everywhere you looked (although props to the Midwest for the extreme color action... Colorado and Wyoming mostly stick to browns and yellows, so these oranges, purples, and reds are AMAZING)... but when I moved to Milwaukee a year and a half ago, I knew I was making some sacrifices. The sacrifice of leaving behind 300 days of sunshine a year. One of giving up the familiar-to-me "yo-yo" winter weather that isn't unusual to have a few inches of snow on the ground one day and two or three later have temperatures up in the 50s. Giving up the luxury of not dealing with months-long snow-packed roads and constant fear of black ice. The bitter Milwaukee cold drives me indoors for days. I literally would not step foot outside if it weren't for school pick up. The cloudy skies fill my head like a lingering fog, damp and dreary. And the never-melting snow makes for a monotonous view out my icy window panes. So now, instead of a sense of anticipation and excitement of change, fall represents a warning of what is to come.

Dan turned on the heat this morning. I'd been bucking up and dealing with 63 degrees in the house... but at some point reality has to set in; fall is here and there is no turning back. Just like I'm back to the grind in Wisconsin with the palm trees, mountain views, and sunshine of Cameroon far behind me. A big part of me wants to pout. I have plenty of observation to draw from - my kids have it refined to an art form. And there has been a fair amount of internal "pouting" as I readjust to my daily life. I know that does absolutely no good and really just stands to steal my joy from me. The same joy I'm so diligently trying to reawaken in my life and am chasing after. My self-pity just douses the beauty and gifts of the season (or location) with darkness.

So instead, today I consciously opened my eyes to joy. Sure, I stubbornly turned off the heat after everyone was out the door for work and school and I piled on three layers of shirts - and I refused to wear a coat when I ran errands (which I survived, fear not). But I soaked in every ounce of sunshine and smiled at God's beautiful creation that has popped its way up through this urban tangle of buildings and roads and sidewalks. The trees intertwined seamlessly, blending bare branches with green, fiery oranges and reds, with browns and yellows, adding more dimension to the pocket-forests and boulevards than all the greens of summer. Though the breeze was brisk (oh, so brisk), the sun warmed my face and reminded me of the little blessings in life - like that same breeze being a welcome relief from that same sun while in Africa. It is all a matter of perspective.

Perspective cried out to me today. I shopped inside stores with organized departments on unobstructed, smooth floors that had dozens of options of anything you could possibly need. I used a piece of plastic to pay for my purchases and didn't have to count out coins or do any mental currency conversions. I got excited when I scored a $1 off coupon for Starbucks at Target and treated myself to a seasonal latte - a drink I didn't have to question the water source or cleanliness of the preparation utensils, not to mention the fact that I had $4 to spare without a second thought. I drove my own car through streets where drivers (mostly) follow laws and potholes now seem so minor. Cameroon refreshed my perspective on my blessings here, pending winter or not. I was able to acknowledge the joys God has put in my personal path - and see the joys He has given my friends across the ocean in their world too.

Winter will make its way here, regardless of how I feel about the season. And I have been planted in Milwaukee for the indefinite future, even if my heart yearns for somewhere else. But God has most recently given me warm memories from a distant land to help me remember that spring will come again when the flowers are source of endless color... and I can find new joys and gain new perspectives, wherever the Lord takes me: winter, Milwaukee, and all.