ode to winter

In spite of living in different states, my dear friend Beth repeatedly teaches me by her example how to live a balanced life. A true contemplative, Beth is not only in touch with nature, she genuinely opens her spirit and heart to the gifts that nature has to offer. By the way, Beth is a fabulous writer. Check out her blog, “The Goodness of the Garden…Year Round.”

For a Caribbean island girl like me for whom winter and its darkness is very difficult, it is a undeniable blessing to be reminded by Beth that winter is an introspective time, a quiet time, that will be followed by the new growth of Spring.

I have learned that, when I allow myself to feel the depth of winter, I appreciate and understand the “nakedness” of our barren winter trees as a sacred sign—all their brokenness exposed.  Damaged, tattered, shaped by the ice storms over the years, our uncovered trees unexpectedly become a consecrated reminder of my own inner brokenness and sinfulness—and God’s healing presence.

This is winter in all its glory, the embracing of opposite extremes: Frost and fire; Barrenness and gestation; Freezing and melting; Dreary and sparkling; Shivers and hearth.

It’s a downright miracle.