Winter in the Texas Hill Country brings brown grasses and leafless trees. Deer thankful our neighborhood doesn’t allow hunting. And […]
Winter in the Texas Hill Country brings brown grasses and leafless trees. Deer thankful our neighborhood doesn’t allow hunting. And orange cedars.
Texas cedars look more tree-green the rest of the year. But come mid-December or so they begin the trek to dusty orange.
Dusty carries a two-fold meaning. The orange is a tad brown in color. Dusty, you might say. But the orange is also pollen.
So the orange cedars mimic one of those powder dusters women use over makeup.
Only in this case the orange powdery dust goes all up my nose. Resulting in runny nose and watery eyes. What the locals call ‘cedar fever.’
The good thing about cedar fever? It’s temporary. The bad thing is it can be debilitating.
Ruins your outdoor time. Creates a dependence on Sudafed. Requires boxes of Kleenex strategically stationed in every room.
Life is full of orange cedars. Normally wonderful trees that create havoc for a season.
Marriages that hike through an emotional valley. Work projects that require extra patience with the boss. The toddler years or teen years or pick-your-pleasure years when raising kids makes you ask “Why?” more than you’d like.
Understanding Jesus made the cedars – even and especially when they go orange – gives me a more long-term view of this time of life. Cedar fever doesn’t last forever.
That doesn’t mean I’ll let go of my Kleenex. But it does mean I’m not pulling up stakes and leaving town.