As I write this the wind is howling, the temperature is in the single numbers and the windchill factor is … what does it matter what the windchill factor is? It’s freeze-your-face-off cold!

With no running water in the barn, my sister and I carry buckets of hot water out to the goats every morning, and the girls love their hot cuppa. This particular morning, I happened to spill some water down the side of my leg, and it instantly froze my pants.

We hurried through the feeding and milking, then, while my sister was taking care of the milk, I went to the shed where we store our hay. When I opened the door, I knew exactly what Albert Camus meant when he said, “In the midst of winter I finally learned that there was an invincible summer.” I was greeted with a spicy whiff of goldenrod and wild grasses. For a moment, I was transported back to a day of August sunshine with my sister driving the tractor around the field, pulling me on the dump rake as we dragged the mown hay into windrows.

I smiled as I recalled the number of times I’ve been catapulted off the rake (is that how it got its name?), and how much I love being a farmer.

As I breathed in the scents of summer, my mind somehow failed to recall the heat of that day; how weak my bony girl arms felt as I hauled with all my might on the dump lever; how we had to baby the spluttering tractor around the low corner of the field so it wouldn’t choke out and die; how heavy the hay was on our pitchforks as we dragged it up to the shed; and how stifling and sticky it was treading it into place.

Instead I remembered the blue cloudless sky; the smell of fresh-cut grass; the sight of my parents hand-raking the spots we couldn’t reach with the rake; the birds that flitted in to feast on the little grasshoppers suddenly exposed to full view; and the taste of homemade lemonade in the shade of the giant spruce.

But there was no more time for reflection. Fingers burning with the cold, I grabbed an armload of hay and fed it out to the girls, then made my way to the house and the warmth of the wood stove. As I experienced the pleasure-pain of my fingers coming back to life, I thought again of my pleasant summer memories, and it made me wonder – what kind of memory am I?

In “Mere Christianity,” Sheldon Van Auken writes: “The best argument for Christianity is Christians: their joy, their certainty, their completeness. But the strongest argument against Christianity is also Christians – when they are somber and joyless, when they are self-righteous and smug in complacent consecration, when they are narrow and repressive, then Christianity dies a thousand deaths.”

I pray as I grow spiritually to be increasingly the former. Sadly, I know I’m more the latter. The Bible doesn’t list criticizing, complaining and comparing myself with others as viable spiritual gifts, yet I’m really good at all three! James 3:10 says, “Out of the same mouth proceedeth blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not so to be.” In my moments of self-righteous indignation, I often forget that the one I’m railing against is God’s child as well; that God loves this person as much as He loves me. How would I feel if someone spoke that way about MY children?

Paul admonished Timothy in 1st Timothy 4:12: “be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.” This is sound advice for ALL of us. We must remember, first and foremost, that we as believers are the world’s Bible. St. Francis of Assisi said, “Preach the gospel at all times; if necessary, use words.” I would add “use kind, uplifting words.”

If I can keep my words kind, and my heart and mind on Jesus, I have a much better opportunity of leaving others with a good memory, and of living up to 2nd Corinthians 2:15-16 (NKJV): “For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing. To the one we are the aroma of death leading to death, and to the other the aroma of life leading to life. And who is sufficient for these things?” It’s an awesome responsibility, but I serve an awesome God!

Brenda J. Norris is assistant Sunday school leader and choir director at the West Lubec Methodist Church. She may be reached at bdnreligion@bangordailynews.