Posts Tagged: Genesis 8:22

“In Praise of November”

On November 17, 2020 by Dteb With 0 Comments - down to earth believer

In the not-too-distant past, I hated November.  Well, maybe “hated” is too strong a word.  No, on third thought, it isn’t!  I used to hate Novembers.

Oh, don’t get me wrong: Thanksgivings were kind of nice.  But one day out of thirty does not a good month make.

But the other day, I decided to enjoy November.  Of course, I enjoyed the drop-dead-beautiful days we had last week.  Sunny dry and in the 70s: What’s not to like about that!  But that is not when I decided to like November.  No, it was when the weather turned cold and grey and rainy, and all the leaves were stripped from the trees.  I looked out my study window at a tree that had been so beautiful a couple of weeks ago.  Even a few days ago, the tree had a lot of lovely yellow leaves.

But now, the tree stood there, naked.  A strong wind made the tree shiver in the cold.  I realized that I could see the limbs and the bark much better now, and I could also see that they were beautiful.

It also hit me like cold water in a shower that I wouldn’t enjoy spring or summer nearly as much without the winter.  And suddenly, I was awake.  The cold water washed away my contempt for November.  My desire for custom-made weather had kept me from enjoying the beauty of the is-ness of things.  And with that realization, a flood of gratitude washed over me.  There is nothing wrong with November after all!  There never was!  I was the problem with November.

My wife was born in November.  That, even more than the beauty of the trees, should have provided plenty of incentive for cherishing this month.

After the great flood, God gives his word that,

“As long as the earth endures,

seedtime and harvest,

cold and heat,

summer and winter,

day and night

will never cease.” (Genesis 8:22, New International Version)

God made all the seasons.  God made every month—November no less than April or June.

Robert Frost has a wonderful poem about the lovely companionship of November.

My sorrow, when she’s here with me,

     Thinks these dark days of autumn rain

Are beautiful as days can be;

She loves the bare, the withered tree;

     She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.

     She talks and I am fain to list:

She’s glad the birds are gone away,

She’s glad her simple worsted grey

     Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,

     The faded earth, the heavy sky,

The beauties she so truly sees,

She thinks I have no eye for these,

     And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know

     The love of bare November days

Before the coming of the snow,

But it were vain to tell her so,

     And they are better for her praise.

My next task in my quest is to learn to love the nighttime as much as I do the early mornings.

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