Cold Fingers

In an attempt to lower my petrol bill, I cycled to chapel on Wednesday for its weekly opening and airing. It was a cold day, though above zero, so I elected to wrap about my neck a scarf and wear an extra jacket beneath my cycling gear. What I had not anticipated were my cold fingers. I wore cycling gloves, which leave most of the finger exposed. I have had cold hands before, but by the time I arrived at chapel, they were not merely numb, but aching under the finger nails. I warmed water and soaked them, life returning after 5-10 minutes. I considered leaving behind my bike for the return journey and cadging back a lift, but I managed to borrow someone's gloves from Rimington, my Plan C being to manufacture some with hand towels and Sellotape. Only heating my home when there are people visiting, one might think me unsusceptible to the cold. On a bike at 12-30 mph, this is clearly not so. Psalm 147:15-18 says:

He sends out His command to the earth;

His word runs very swiftly.

He gives snow like wool;

He scatters the frost like ashes;

He casts out His hail like morsels;

Who can stand before His cold?

Not I, arriving at the chapel, my fingers turned to limestone. Yet a few years ago, colder even than my digits, was my heart. Like iron it was, or granite: thick, heavy and unyielding. The psalmist continues:

He sends out His word and melts them;

He causes His wind to blow, and the waters flow.

Christ’s warm light can turn stone to flesh, death to life, mourning to joy.

Image by WOLKE108 from Pixabay