I tried really hard not to swear when I woke up to snow this morning. (I succeeded!) I hate the stuff. I detest winter. The cold is no fun for me and it actually hurts my body. For real. I experience pain when temperatures drop below 50 degrees or something like that. Also, I have seen my death and I know that snow is somehow involved. (How’s that for dramatic?) I realize that other parts of the nation are experiencing more outrageous temperatures than Idaho is, but I don’t care. I’m suffering here.
More than once, I found myself daydreaming of Rwanda. I long for the land of a thousand hills and the beautiful people there. I’ve asked Jesus multiple times if I was supposed to move there. I could see myself as an incredibly happy man walking from village to village sharing the Good News with wonderful people who need to know Jesus. These thoughts have increased exponentially since winter struck.
It’s funny how we want God to call us out of less than desirable circumstances. Sometimes, He does. And we praise Him for it. The sanctified desire of a follower of Christ is a legitimate thing (ps. 37:4). But too often, we’re nothing more than powerless escape artists, hoping that God will liberate us from a tight spot where we’ll likely have the opportunity to develop character or something horrific like that. Frankly, I’m not sure of what sort of character I’ll gain from subjecting myself to sub-freezing temperatures, so there’s that.
Jesus, please help me. Or send me to a warm place. Whichever.
Because I know you love me.
Also? Expedited global warming is an option, if You so choose. Mostly kidding.