However, the country house that we moved into was about four miles from town and it was truly country. In the summer you could walk through the fields of yellow broom sage and scare up a meadow lark about every other step. I can still hear their melodic warbling in my memories. After several days of chasing rabbits in the fields of broom sage and fishing in an old mossy pond, I became a country boy.

Our landlord raised melons and other fruit in a truck patch where the various half-wild farm critters ran loose. One cool morning in the beginning of fall, I walked out into the truck patch to get some cantaloupes for breakfast. The cold dew covered my feet and oozed through my toes as they pressed into the thick Bermuda grass in our backyard. As I walked down the rows of melons driving the turkeys and guinea fowl out of my way, the rich farm soil of the truck patch caked on the bottoms of my feet. Suddenly right in front of me there was a loud commotion immediately followed by an explosion of feathers. The clamor startled those cagey yard birds into full flight. It startled me so bad that I nearly jumped out of my overalls. A coyote had launched his attack from the high grass on the edge of the truck path. In an instant one small turkey hen vanished into the sage brush.

I raced back inside of the house to tell my Mom who quickly grabbed the rifle and raced out the door. But that coyote was long gone with his breakfast—the turkey hen. All that was left was a small splay of feathers that marked the spot where she had been taken. Outwardly I feigned concern as Mom railed against the coyote, but inside I was brimming with excitement. This was life in the fast lane for a twelve-year-old transplanted city boy!

However, country-living wasn't as exciting when I discovered that there were many more chores to do in the country than in the city. Us boys had to take turns milking the cow, gathering eggs, feeding the chickens, and numerous other hardships of country living.

When winter came it was whole other set of rules. Enduring an Oklahoma winter was sawing and splitting enough firewood to last us through the harsh winter months. It was also about making sure that we kept a stash of firewood and kindling on the porch. Winter meant drawing water early in the morning from a deep and skinny well. It might not sound like a big deal to draw water, but the well rope always got wet. The cold water almost froze on our hands before we got back to the house. We also took turns building a fire in the morning. Fire-building was an art that we had to learn—being city boys. First Mom taught us to lay a green log on a hot fire and shut the damper before we went to bed at night. The next morning there would be enough coals so that all we had to do to start a fire was toss in a few sticks of kindling and some dry wood.

I still remember how the fire from that pot bellied stove warmed half of the house while the other half was cold as an igloo. In the coldest part of winter our pot bellied stove would have a ring of people around it. There was a question that someone would invariably ask. "Are you warming that stove or is it warming you?" Everyone would always laugh and back off a bit, but not for long.

There was also a trick to getting warm from a pot-bellied stove. To get sufficiently warm, we would back up to the stove just close enough to toast the legs of our britches. My britches legs would get so hot that I was certain a time or two that they were going to catch on fire. The trick was to soak up some radiant heat from the hot fabric without letting it touch the tender backs of your legs.

After ones backside was suitably warmed, it was time to turn around real carefully and start toasting the front side. I say carefully because one could burn themselves if one moved too fast. It wasn't unusual to see someone holding their pants legs outward as they waited for them to cool. Usually my back would cool off rather quickly before my front got warm. I had to turn repeatedly like chicken slowly roasting on a rotisserie. Eventually both front and back would be warm and stay that way as long as I didn't forget to turn. Being naïve to Oklahoma country winters, sometimes I would get involved in listening to the adults talk and forget to turn—then I would have to start the entire process all over again. Some people just gave up after toasting for a while and sat around rubbing their hands while stretching them toward the stove. One also had to be careful about sitting too quickly after toasting.

Living in the country made me recognize the seasons. Somehow I didn't seem to notice them as much living in the relative comfort of the city. In the country we had to plant and wait for things to grow. We raised chickens and I watched the little chicks grow up to become fryers. The fruit trees would bloom and we harvested the peaches, apricots and canned them for the winter. In the country we had to prepare for the seasons or we would have to do without when winter came.

I heard folks complain about the seasons and wish that they could have the temperature just right year round. They were always glad to see winter after a blazing summer, but before winter was over they were longing for the hot summer again. There was something good about every season. It seems like we would learn to enjoy the season that we are in and thank God for it. However, I did have my favorite season. My favorite time of the year was and still is spring. The flowers bloomed in a dazzling display of color. The spring breezes mingled and blew the scent everywhere. In my Oklahoma childhood, spring's artistry was pristine beauty…until the roads got dry. With the dryness came the dust. Every time a vehicle came by the dust would almost block out the sun. After a few dusty days, everything appeared blurred and indifferent. However, one good spring shower would restore the perkiness and beauty of the rolling fields, and of wild flowers and scented roadsides. A spring rain made life so bright and clear that I could not resist heading out into the countryside for a walk—just to soak in the scenery.

I've observed that life is a series of successive seasons that we must pass through until we reach the winter of our lives. In Ecclesiastes, Solomon said that to every time there is a season. One day, if we live through all the seasons, we will become old. We may even become terminally ill. Then we won't have the rainbows to look forward to, the spring showers or the dawning of new days. In other words, it will dawn on us that we're never going to run through meadows and chase the breeze again. The best that we can do is wait and hope. All that we have left to give is our wisdom to people who do not want it—who believe that they know what life is about.

God's Word declares that it is appointed to us to die some day. For people who live long, that's the end of winter—and spring's not coming again. Before we reach that appointed time, we need to discover the true meaning of life. If life is only about extracting all the pleasure and excitement that we can from this temporal zone, then how do we face the end of our lives? We will eventually reach a time when pleasure is being able to taste something and excitement is getting a visit from a friend or family member. There must be something to hope for beyond the wrinkled skin, creaky joints, frail hands and failing senses.

I believe that God warns us to serve Him while we are young—not to become so engrossed in this world that we fail to realize that we're going to leave it someday. The Apostle James said that our life is like a vapor, or like the flower of grass that withers in the heat of the sun. The stark reality is that we are here for only a short time and a number of seasons. He also wants us to realize is that there is a place where we can dwell in the timeless season of His love. The only requirement is that we surrender our lives to the Lordship of His Son, Jesus Christ. Tragically, too many people reject this requirement and instead live for the seasons of temporal life. They do fine in the spring and romp through the summer. In the fall they begin to suspect that time may be winding down. When they reach the winter, if they get that far, they are often too stubborn or hardened to change.