A Southern Winter

For the past dozen years, I've been complaining about mild Southern winters. To call it "winter" is a misnomer. What we have here in the Southern US is more the "mud season." It's messy. It's depressing. It's frustrating. It's ugly.

For those of us with dogs, winter in the South means muddy paws and the constant mopping of floors and the inertia that comes from day after day of dreariness. It's putting on a coat because it's just chilly enough to need one, only to wrestle out of it as soon as you get in the car because it's not chilly enough to need one for long.

I miss outdoor ice skating. I miss roaring fires and snow days. I miss cute winter coats.

But lately I've come to appreciate something about Southern winters, thanks to two special men.

Every day as I drive to work, I pass two homeless men that live under a bridge in downtown Atlanta. They are always there, either sleeping (because I go to work at 5:30 am), or walking slowly, pushing shopping carts filled with plastic garbage bags that contain the full sum of their possessions. And I know that under that bridge are dozens more homeless. But these two men...they have become mine to follow, to watch, to worry about. Sometimes I leave zip loc bags of protein bars and small personal care items under the bridge, right by the grate that they've bent just enough to slip through. Every day I pray for them, and when I don't see them for a day or two, I feel a cold nausea in the pit of my stomach.

Most nights I know they'll be okay, because Southern winters are gentle. But on the nights when the wind howls and the temperatures drop, I can barely sleep. I lay awake in my warm bed, with my well-fed dogs snoring as they sleep on their padded matching beds, and I worry. I worry about my two men, and I worry about the homeless animals in the world. I think about the faces of the dogs I post almost daily on Facebook from the animal shelter, and I wonder how many animals are freezing to death on the unusual cold Southern winter night. I think about my daughter's rescued dog, my grand-dog, Radar, who before she found him spent most of his young life on the streets, fending for himself, eventually being hit by a car, and I say a prayer of thanks that many are willing to take in the broken, the scared, the dirty, the mentally ill, the rejected, the misunderstood, the lonely, the abandoned.

I remember that Jesus never turned his back on suffering. I want to turn my back. It's so hard to look into the face of real suffering. I want to ignore that kind of suffering. But then, I am a follower of Jesus...so I pray I have the heart and the stomach to keep looking.

I think it's no coincidence that Southern winters are the precursor of Lent. As I enter into the time of reflection and self-examination that will come soon, I remind myself that there is a blessing in the mildness of a Southern winter. Fewer people and animals will die. And I remember that there is a deep and glorious beauty in each and every living creature.

And I am thankful that this year, there is no snow. I am thankful that this year, there is rain enough to fill the used plastic water jugs that "my men" use to capture water, and to make puddles for the Radars of the world to drink from. I am thankful for relatively warm temperatures for people who struggle to heat their homes.

I am reminded that a mild Southern winter is a gift for many. I am reminded that some mud is a small price to pay for life.