I
prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape.
Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn't show.
Since it seems that Puxatony Phil might
actually be right this year, I'm not holding my breath for warmer weather.
Now that we've hit what feels like the 200th day of snow and sub-zero
temperatures, I'm wondering, "And why don't I live in Alaska?"
At least then I'd get to see some real mountains and the Aurora Borealis.
Ah well, I'll have to settle for my view of the back fence and the
snow-covered water tower.
I was talking to my mom this morning and
venting my typical pessimism, "Well, this means we'll be snowed in all
week." The temperature isn't supposed to hit freezing and the roads are
now covered... again.
Her response was typical Mom--a light of
truth, "It will just make spring all-the-more sweet."
Without the darker days of winter, would
spring hold as much promise and mirth? Would we dance over the first leaves?
Shout, "Come look!" over the tulips and daffodils?
Although I detest the cold and have lost
my childhood fondness for snow, I must recognized a deeper beauty to
winter--one we don't readily recognize.
In Parker Palmer's Let Your Life
Speak, he discusses the benefit of winter. "I am not sure that any
sight or sound on earth is as exquisite as the hushed descent of a sky full of
snow. Another gift is the reminder that times of dormancy and deep rest
are essential to all living things. Despite all appearances, of course, nature
is not dead in winter--it has gone underground to renew itself and prepare for
spring"(101).
And likewise, neither are we dead
in winter. Though the days can bar us up, and nights close us in at 6:00,
and the S.A.D. threaten to plunge us under, I want to hope... to believe...
that even then am I growing, renewing, finding strength in the "hushed
descent" of the season.
Sunday was a scary day for my area.
The said-weather-predictors were a little off their game and church-goers
were struck unawares by the sprinting snow. My mom barely made it to our
house and several others were stranded at churches, stores, and friends' homes.
That evening, my husband and I made the short trek down to my mom's
apartment complex to shovel snow off sidewalks. I was thankful for the excuse
to leave the house and even more thankful for what God unfolded across the sky.
The sky had carried heavy shadow all day, but just as the sun dove toward
the horizon, the clouds opened and lifted. And this is what we saw.
Feels like a promise, doesn't it? And so
it is.
Spring will come again, but until then, I
want to quit fighting so much and find a little peace and patience... and
childlike glee over what will be.
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