Genesis 8:22 "While the earth remains, seed time and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease."
It was a warm day full of a blustery breeze. Above me I could hear the Blue Jay's screech to one another sounding the alarm. "Jay...jay...jay!" they screamed out..."Intruder!" Silently I willed them to "hush" in my mind. I just wanted to hear the rustle of the leaves on the trees as the wind carried its fervor through them. My eyes darted around the barn yard looking for the Barn Swallows. "That's funny" I thought to myself, "usually the Swallows are diving above me when I hike the field close to the barn." That is when I realized the subtle changes around me. The Barn Swallows have gone. It was here. As much as I wished it not to be it was here. The field of corn next to me held a beige hue and sure enough...it was slowly drying out from the bottom of the stalk to the top. The sumac blared a bright shocking red coat, and the small maple tree ahead of me whispered shades of muted orange. My eyes followed the landscape of hills and valleys and found shades of yellow, dried green, orange, and browns. It was here. The season has quietly arrived with no warning. Autumn. The mere sound of the word evokes thoughts of warm sweaters, hot chocolate, and firelight. It reminds one that soon winter is to follow with its cold and silent fury.
Slowly I made my way further into the woods near the farmhouse. Again the Blue Jays screamed their annoyance that I would dare to enter their habitat. Gentle breezes lifted the hair upon the back of my neck cooling the perspiration that had popped up there in the vigor of my hike. To my left I saw the prettiest group of wild purple Asters. I stooped down and grabbed a handful of it. In the mix, what I didn't see was the small thorns of a wild rose. I winced as the aggressive thorns pierced my skin. I rubbed my hand against the coarse denim of my jeans to somehow get rid of the sliver that now remained lodged within the palm of my hand. Of course the small sliver refused to release itself from the soft skin. "Shucks" I thought, "Might as well head home anyway, I bet that bread I mixed up is ready to be kneaded."
I slowly trudged my way back to the farmyard marveling at the speed in which the sun takes its rest below the horizon. Within seemingly seconds the landscape transformed from bright and breezy to pink, orange, and hazy. An owl hooted its awakening in the distance and behind me to the right a few coyotes touted their existence. I reached the farmhouse and grabbed an old green wine bottle. "Perfect for my purple Asters" I thought to myself as I filled the bottle with warm water and placed the purple little daisy-like flowers within. Forgetting about the sliver in my finger I set to work kneading the now risen bread dough sitting in my Grandma's old 1940's enamelware bowl. White with a red rim trim I find this bowl to be the perfect size for my homemade bread dough. I flour my kitchen table and proceed to knead the bread. As I run my fingers through the dough, the warm scent of yeast mixed with flour touches my nose. I deliberately work the soft yielding dough through my hands and think of the delicious smell the house will wear in but a few hours. Kneading vigorously I suddenly feel a sharp pain. "OUCH!"...surely that darn sliver is what is the problem! Seconds ago I was joyfully inhaling the wonderful smell of my bread dough and then the sliver in my hand brings me back to reality.
Ignoring the sliver, I continued to knead my bread dough until it was ready to be rolled out. With my Grandma Nushart's rolling pin in hand, I roll the dough this way and then that way until a perfect rectangle forms. With tender care I carefully roll the rectangle ends into a perfect loaf-of-bread shape and put it in the bread pans upon my warm stove top covered with a light kitchen towel to rise once again. Surveying my kitchen I can see the dirt and stone driveway has left remnants of dust upon my shelves and walls. I grab a dust cloth and begin to dust the areas in which the blanket of film covers. I glance out the window and behold the fog of the cool evening descend upon the soy bean field like a white winter quilt. Darkness enfolds the barnyard and the hills, and late season crickets sing a vibrating song across the vast yard into the wooded hills. I grab my dust cloth and head into the living room to once again swipe away the invading layer of dust. I dusted the living room and watched as the first star touched the sky in the cool of the evening. I decide to head outside and pick up the rake and various garden tools I left laying in the yard before it is too dark to see. "OUCH!" Again the sliver reminds me of its presence against the soft flannel cloth in my hand as I pick up the unyielding hardness of the rake handle. "I really need to get this dumb sliver out..."
The bread is ready to be placed into the oven. Distracted once again from the sliver, I head to the kitchen and prepare the oven for baking. I think to myself how nice it would be to have my wood cook stove just sitting and rusting in storage in the barn hooked up to bake this bread. There is just something about the way food tastes after it has been prepared upon or in a wood cook stove. "Maybe I can talk Flanagan into helping me get that summer kitchen done out in the chicken shack." My mind wanders as I think about the different ways we can configure the area to fit a wood cook stove. Oh how I desire to fire it up and prepare some meals, preserve some goods, bake some pies and breads with that stove! Some day before I die I want that stove hooked up and cleaned up so I can prepare some delicious items upon or in it! In the electric oven the bread goes and I set my timer for exactly 35 minutes...just the right amount of time to bake the bread to just the right color. I check the bread one more time before I decide to leave the kitchen. Opening the oven door the sliver decidedly reminds me it is STILL there. "OUCH!" That was the final straw.
Heading to the bathroom with a vengeance I forcefully grab the tweezers. Ugh. Glasses. Where are my glasses! As I age I am reminded that parts of me are declining. I hate it that I can no longer see without those buggers! Glasses secured, I begin to dig at that sliver in my finger. Painfully I twist and turn the palm of my hand to get a better grip upon the sliver. The sliver fights me. It ducks my advances as I pick at it. Oh how frustrating! Light. I need more light! I turn on the florescent mirror and dig at it some more. FINALLY. Finally the sliver secedes. Tiny and full of a bit of blood, what once was a festering angry sore is now nothing but a slight spit of a thing upon my tweezers. Almost not there. So tiny it made me giggle at how much pain it caused whilst in my flesh.
In the living room I sat down in my recliner and picked up a book intending to read. The baking bread made my tummy growl as it painted the house with its warm and tasty smell. Best intentions set aside I thought about the little sliver that plagued me. Isn't that just like something so small to grow and grow and grow in discomfort into something seemingly so big? I think about the problems we all have in our lives. How many of those problems are just like that little sliver from a wild rose bush? Some problems, like the sliver, seem so SO big, but are really quite small. Some problems are deep, they hurt, they do not go away. We dig at them and dig at them and still there is no relief. Some problems are tucked away and forgotten. But, like the small sliver, they are still there and they fester. They become infectious and take over until suddenly they explode into yet more pain that really could have been avoided...had we just removed it or dealt with it before it festered. You see even in a sliver I see a life lesson, so I share that life lesson with you. The Scripture states "Do not let the sun go down upon your wrath". To me that is just like that little sliver wedged into the flesh of my hand. If you do not make a plan to deal with it or remove it; if you let the sun go down upon that sliver and try to forget upon it...guess what? It will still be there. It will not go away until you deal with it and settle it. Readers, do not let the little problems boil within. Like my sliver...my joy was stolen on account of a little sliver! That pesky sliver caused me to not appreciate my wildflowers, the smell and feel of my homemade bread dough, even the feel of a good book within my hands! Remove that sliver before it becomes infected and steals your joy.
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