Over the course of my life, I have seen the Disney version of Cinderella upwards of 20 times. Despite my knowledge of how the story ends, I still get a pit in my stomach in the closing act when the mice start their assent up the long staircase. (If you’ve never seen the movie, the goal of the climb was to hand off a key to Cinderella…a key that would open the door to the cell that was keeping her from her prince.) Their task was bigger them and the probability that they will arrive in time is slim.
I respond to the turning of seasons the same way. This past Saturday ice covered central KY again; cold to my core, my heart ached at the thought that spring would never come. In the logical realm this makes about as much sense as fearing the mice won’t make it to the top of the stairs before the shoe-fitter guy disappears. After some pondering, I realize that my problem is not a head issue. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Cinderella will end up in the arms of her prince and that a flood of warmth will return to this town. Often my doubts are deeper then repeated experiences can explain away. And I wonder how often I do this in the spiritual realm. My trust simply doesn’t extend far enough. At least yet.
I do however get a sense of peace knowing that even when my perspectives fails, Gods promises don’t. Here’s to a day of fulfilled hope.
This has been what at times seems to have been an insurmountable winter. I've caught myself thinking of it as a cruel winter, wondering if it will ever end, as well. It is certainly a parallel lesson of hope...so do the mice make it?
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