Blog On A Winter's Morning

By Dr. Neil Gilliland

I love the early mornings. I think better. And it seems the Lord speaks to me more clearly at 5:30 a.m. than He does the rest of the day. It was a cold morning in West Lafayette, Indiana, and the Lord spoke. I wrote what I heard and I am still trying to listen.

It has been a cold and blustery week. This morning, small wisps of snow made tiny circles in the air. The wind whistled through my pants and with every breath, I filled my lungs with the winter's chill.

Yet there seems to be a solace in the cold. For once it is escaped, I can wrap myself in...warmth. Even my morning coffee tastes better. When I bring the cup to my lips, I take a moment to breathe outward into the cup and see the steam fog my glasses with images of home and hearth. But the longer I sit in the warmth the less I notice it…acclimation.

Acclimation involves a cost. I have paid dearly, for now I feel, not the bite of the harsh coldness, but a nagging chill that hovers between my hearth of fog and the breath of winter. I wonder how often my soul gets acclimated to the simple gifts of the Father and the warmth they have brought in the wintry days of life.

This morning it seems far too long since I listened to the choir of birds singing their praises to the Creator from the limbs of their sanctuary. At times I forget the Father who smiled the stars into place and shaped the alpine peaks with His hands, also took a moment to put tiny nails on the tips of a baby's fingers.

The stories of our Lord are filled with simple gifts…gifts to teach us great lessons of forgiveness and redemption. He asked for a simple drink of water from a woman whose thirst was greater than His. When was the last time I thanked the Father for a drink of water.

Gifts to teach us the truth of His depth of caring. A simple tear left its mark on His cheek when He felt the pain a brother's death brought to two of His dear friends.

Gifts to explain His provision was not so much full nets which all night were filled with empty, but a simple seaside breakfast for a weary and despondent band of disciples.

Oh, may the Father forgive me for acclimating to the simple gifts.

Now, I sit at my desk and watch wee birds dance in the cold and wonder what tune is running through their minds. I smile and simply say thanks to the Father. And I'll take another sip of my coffee and feel the warmth and say thanks to the Holy One.