Old Man Winter must have increased his vitamin intake to unleash such a frigid onslaught of cold air, howling winds, and snow that stretches from the far American South all the way to the northern border of Canada. Many states caught in this icy grip have suffered power outages, impassable streets, and food shortages, while those in the far North have faced even harsher realities.
One of the most authentically Southern places I know is where my granddaughter attends college: Oxford, Mississippi. This charming town, bathed in Southern culture, is the birthplace of literary giants like William Faulkner, whose words have shaped American literature. With its sprawling oak trees and quaint buildings, Oxford beckons visitors to embrace its Southern spirit.
Yet, years ago, Oxford was a far cry from the picturesque scene it presents today. James Meredith made history as the first black student to enroll at Ole Miss in September of 1962, amid a storm of unrest. His courageous entrance became a powerful symbol of change, challenging the grip of bigotry across the nation.
Back then, the town was enveloped in hostility and conflict, revealing a very different face of Southern life.
When James Meredith attempted to step onto the Ole Miss campus, violence erupted—two lives were lost amid a storm of bricks, bottles, and gunfire. I don’t believe that even the most brutal winter storm could rival the chilling hatred and injustice that blanketed Oxford and many other towns in the South. Still, the University of Mississippi, along with other institutions, learned through challenging experiences that the bloodshed born from hatred leaves an indelible stain.
Today, the majestic oak trees have succumbed to the weight of icy branches. The once bustling university campus is still and silent. Streets lie strewn with debris and downed power lines, while storefronts stand shuttered. The only sound echoing in the distance is the grind of chainsaws, working to clear the paths ahead.
Amid this horror, the brief flicker of good news comes from the power outages that shield many from the unrelenting stream of distressing news. The loss of those historic oak trees is undeniably tragic, but the anguish of witnessing a needless death is devastating.
As I watched the turmoil unfold in Minnesota, memories of the inhumanity I have witnessed across our nation haunt me. In our darkest hours, we often unite in support of one another; conversely, we can tear each other apart when our best intentions become frozen, and our hearts harden.
There is no violence in Oxford today. The community is coming together, demonstrating the resilience of the human spirit. Regardless of their ethnicity or ideologies, neighbors rush to aid one another, all seeking warmth, food, and a chance for revitalization as they wait for the town and university to rebuild and flourish once again.
When will we learn that political and racial violence is as destructive as winter storms and tornadoes? Though we may have no control over Old Man Winter, each of us holds the power to change our hearts.
We might never agree on all matters, whether personal or political, but we must recognize that hatred and injustice inflict lasting damage. Will we ever grasp that the potential for evil exists within us all, but it need not dominate our lives? We cannot allow our hearts to freeze to the point where we lose our compassion and humanity.
A preacher once shared a poignant story about asking his congregation to pray for the families affected by the tragedies in Minnesota. A few members protested this request, and I can’t help but wonder: What would God say in response? When political bias eclipses empathy, it’s time to reevaluate our priorities and stay seated in the pew.
The frigid weather wreaks havoc across much of our nation, and treacherous conditions persist. Yet, in time, new trees will be planted, power will be restored, and classes will resume. Spring flowers will emerge from the once-frozen earth, and the ice storm of 2026 will slip into the annals of history.
For some, particularly in the far North, where brutal winters are the norm, the storm of January will leave a lasting legacy. September 1962 remains etched in the collective memory of the University of Mississippi.
Those residents of Minnesota will carry forward the painful memories of bloodshed and protest, reliving the fear, sorrow, and shame tied to that chapter of history. They will remember, as I do, the cruelty that can engulf our souls and permanently stain our ground.
Where have all their flowers gone? When will we learn that the saddest bouquets are those that wither beside a tombstone?
