Photo and Commentary (c)2026 by Shelley Schurch
Sunday, March 22, 2026
What do you see when you look at this photo? This sight stopped me in my tracks as we set out on one of our neighborhood walks last week, and we’d only gotten as far as our next-door neighbors’ front yard!
I see a snow man, or, to be more precise, a snow face, looking left to the flowers. I see winter, looking at spring.
It was quite a surprise to have winter arrive mid-March, a one-day winter just long enough to mess up air travel and road travel and appointments and plans, and to give kids a day to stay home from school and build snowmen.
The snow face in my photo has his mouth slightly open, as if he’s saying something. What might that be?
Perhaps, “I’m leaving now; sorry for any disruptions.”
Or, “Hello, spring! I think they’re ready for you!”
Or, “See you next year, maybe a bit earlier than March.”
I used to think of seasons as times of the year that you could count on to reliably and predictably arrive and leave on time, each politely making way for the next. I would enjoy each season for its gifts, and endure its downsides, knowing they would pass.
But now? Seasons are scrambled all over our country. In my husband’s South Dakota hometown they had a blizzard last week, with minus degree temperatures. This week was still chilly, except for yesterday, when the thermostat rapidly climbed to 75 degrees, before plummeting to 33 degrees in the night.
But this was mild, compared to the unprecedented heat wave suffocating much of our nation, shattering records, with many places in Arizona and California reporting temps of 100+ degrees. Martinez Lake, Arizona reached 110 degrees last Thursday, the highest March temperature ever recorded in the U.S.
Seasons no longer glide serenely along, with one exiting stage left while another enters stage right. It feels, instead, like climate craziness. We brace for whatever weather will happen next, not knowing what that will be.
This seems to mirror the chaos in our country and in our world. We wake up every morning, braced for whatever news has happened overnight, and what the day might bring.
In order to lower my shoulders and unclench my jaw, I open my Bible to hear from God, my true and faithful God.
The book of Psalms has been called the Bible’s songbook – 150 songs sung by our ancestors long, long ago. But they are not ancient, dusty lyrics far removed from our experiences today.
No matter how you are feeling, you can probably find a psalm that expresses that feeling, because these songs spill out all that our human hearts have known. They are not only songs; they are also prayers.
What is amazing to me is that over one-third of these psalms are laments – songs, or prayers, of pain, of grief, of sorrow, or confusion.
Just before the well-loved, peaceful 23rd Psalm, we read Psalm 22, a lament so dark that Jesus cried out its opening words as He hung, dying, on the cross” “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” There has never been a greater pain, a greater crisis than this.
And yet, in Luke 23:46, Jesus’s final words from the cross, He cries out words of trust from Psalm 31:5: “Into your hands I commit my spirit.”
When I am in a season of uncertainty and confusion, or at any time when I need to carry what’s on my heart to God, I find myself quoting verses 14 and 15a from that same Psalm:
But I trust in you, Lord;
I say, “You are my God.”
My times are in your hands . . .”
As we step out into this brand new week, we can repeat this prayer of trust in our trustworthy God. And we can also encourage ourselves and others with David’s concluding words from Psalm 31:
Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord.