Winter-Time by Dr F W Boreham
From the desk of F W Boreham
Interestingly this is one of the articles for the Children’s Page that F W Boreham contributed to The Victorian Baptist Witness (Australia). It was published in the Witness on July 5th, 1932 and appeared on page 11.
An admirer of Charles Dickens once sent him, as a token of appreciation and gratitude, an elaborate and beautifully worked table-centre. The design was made up of artistic representations of the seasons. Summer occupy the centre, with Spring on the left and Autumn on the right. But no Winter! The donor explained that he shrank from, including any reminder of that gloomy season in a gift to one whose pen had proved a ceaseless ministry of brightness. But Winter declined to be left out in the cold. “Do you know,” said Dickens, as he pointed to the gift long afterwards, “I never look at that table-centre without thinking more about Winter than about any of the other seasons. Its very absence from the design, only serves to accentuate the thought of it in my mind.” And so Winter had its revenge; and it was a just revenge.
Winter is well worth watching. Unless we are very careful, her extreme modesty will deceive us. She masquerades; indulges in camouflage; and victimises us by the sheer trickery of appearances.
Winter time is Homing Time. The long summer evenings makes gypsies of us all. The house seems stuffy; we take to the open-air. But Winter drives us to the fireside. Once home from business, we have no inclination for further adventure. We put on our slippers; draw our chairs, up to the fire; gossip over the evening paper; get out our books, or our knitting; talk, laugh and read aloud; and thus home sweet home, slighted in summer-time, comes to its own once more.
Winter time is Helping Time. We sit beside our crackling fires and think of those who shiver in the cold. And the soft warmth of a great compassion steals into our hearts. The very newspaper reminds us of the needs of the destitute. Who will provide fuel for those whose greats are cold? Food for those whose cupboards are empty? Blankets for those who shiver through the long, long nights ? We find, in winter, a special pleasure in responding to these touching and eloquent appeals. It is our way of calling a vast company of helpless men and haggard women and ragged children to share with us to glow and comfort of our winter fireside.
Winter time is Resting Time. Winter knows her business. She sees that ceaseless summer would exhaust us, and so she takes away our fruit and our flowers, just as a mother, at bedtime, takes away the books and the toys. Winter is wonderfully gentle and wonderfully kind and wonderfully wise. She lulls the earth to sleep that it may rest and conserve its energies, and thus prepare itself for all the expenditure of a new Spring. Summer is Nature’s spending-time; Winter is her saving time.
Today, then, I raise my hat to Winter! Nature in winter reminds us of nothing so much as of the excited child, who, delighted that his antics have given the beholders pleasure, instantly proceeds to repeat the performance. Proud of her golden harvests and her luscious fruitage, the earth makes up her mind to do the whole thing over again; and, in winter, she gathers up all her powers for the stupendous undertaking. And so, amidst these nipping frosts, and biting winds, I see Penelope, weaving her wondrous web all over again. Knowing that she will need all the material she can find, she takes two pieces, the dainty tapestries and delicate embroideries that she wove with such deft fingers in the Spring. And it is here that Winter, herself so wondrously wise, rebukes, my folly.
For I have made a sad mistake. I have fancied that I could be always working, always spending, always giving out. I have tried to make my life all sunshine, all summer, all harvest. But the Winter round about me laughs at my simplicity. I am trying to do what Nature herself finds impossible. I must have my times of quiet and inactivity. My soul needs her Winter-times in order that she may revel in the priceless hoard that the eternal past, has stored, and in order that she may rest and prepare in the stillness for the busy days of brightness that are coming.And what is this, peeping out at me from the pages of my Bible, like the first crocus peeping through the snow? And it was Winter, and Jesus walked in the temple in Solomon’s porch. Like the cloisters of the old English Abbeys, Solomon’s porch was so placed that it caught any burst of sunshine that a wintry day might bring. And that was where Jesus walked! If, in the depth of the dreariest winter, you look for the sunniest and most sheltered spot, you will be sure to find Him there. Or, to put the same truth more accurately, if you find Him, you will find the spot where the sunshine loves to linger. For God’s Sonshine and God’s Sunshine are inseparable.