Ryanne Molinari

There is a wind chill of -40. Negative. Forty. While my Arizona-raised mind cannot fathom this stark reality, I was just outside and my chilled hands can confirm: this is my third winter in Iowa and this weekend alone has rendered it the most brutal.

I knew this day was going to be nasty when my cat, S’mores, refused to go on our screen porch for her “morning constitutional.” Every day, rain or shine, she prances to the door and asks permission to take the air and watch the birds like a proper Victorian lady.

Not today. I opened the door and she looked at me like I was crazy. I should have taken my cue from S’mores. Instead, I tried to operate as usual. Somehow, I’ve convinced myself that self-control lies in following to-do lists and schedules regardless of seasonal changes or inclement weather.

But my cat has a point. Maybe self-control can also involve living with the seasons rather than fighting them.

As usual, I am thinking in musical analogies. When practicing piano, self-control can be manifest in the even, clear, relentless tones of Hanon exercises or scales. But it can also be demonstrated in knowing when to pause between notes to savor a well-balanced chord. Or when to play softly and let the audience listen with greater care. Or when to simply touch the surface of the keys without making a sound. Or slow down to the lowest setting on the metronome.

Today, as I submitted homework, outlined book chapters, practiced organ, and attempted (unsuccessfully) to go to the gym, I was practicing scales when I should have been enjoying a nocturne. I was intent on productivity when the world itself seemed to demand a rest.

So, having done what needed to be done, I am bundled up with my cat, my husband, and a book. Whether this day adheres to my routines or not, it is the day the Lord has made. Perhaps the first step toward being glad and rejoicing in such a day as this is simply accepting it for what it is: a bitter day that renders my normal schedule impossible.

So, I’ll rejoice in the extra rest before a busy week and in cozy meals and extended reading time. Rather than deciding I can only rejoice in days that follow my plans, I’ll learn to rejoice in the days the Lord makes—interruptions and all.

Alright, enough musing. Here’s a comical poem I thought up whilst battling our snowy driveway:

This is the day the Lord has made
So let us rejoice and be glad in it.
The air is so cold it hurts my face,
But let us rejoice and be glad in it.

This is the day the Lord has made,
So let us rejoice and be glad in it.
Is that a ski slope or my driveway? 
Still, let us rejoice and be glad in it.

This is the day the Lord has made.
We will rejoice and be glad in it.
Though now three snowblowers have died,
And our best boots just sink and slide
And all the earth is cold, bone-white,
We will rejoice and be glad...
            ...inside.