Winter Trekking
I went on a winter hike today. Winter hiking is not my favorite. It's not very pretty. It's cold. It's deadish. And yet... it's nature! The pull of nature today was greater than the yuck of the cold. And I'm so glad I went, because I noticed some things that are sticking to my soul.
As I walked along the trail, not very impressed by the brown, boring colors, I found myself asking God lots of questions about my life. Of course, because that's often how God is, I sensed God saying, "Shhh... just listen." So I spent the rest of my hike redirecting my active mind to pay attention to what was happening around me and in me. And man... it was beautiful. Here are some things I saw.
Winter is clear...
The ironic thing about winter is that because of the deadness or sleep, the view becomes clearer. Have you ever heard the expression "You can't see the forest through the trees"? Well, in winter, you can't help but see the forest through the trees. There is nothing blocking your view. You have no choice but to see beyond what you normally would. As I walked along, I noticed that I could see people on a mountain clear across the valley. Normally the beautiful, lush green trees would block my view, but today I could see straight through them. I saw something I never would have been able to see before. I saw sweet talkative birds in branches usually shielded from my view. I noticed the vivid greens of the mosses that so far have survived the cold in contrast to the deadness of everything else around them. They seemed more beautiful because of that. And I noticed that the evergreens grew mostly in the valley along the river. None of these I would have been able to see in summer. We all long for summer (or spring if you don't like the heat), but when we retreat from winter, what do we miss? I'm a counselor so you know this has quickly become a metaphor for me!
As I think about my personal winters, I see the same thing. Winter, or grief, has been a time when I have had no choice but to see things in a way I never had before. Winter is a kind of a forced perspective shift. When we are able to allow ourselves to listen and look beyond the thing in front of us, we see things about ourselves, others, and God that we would not have been able to see in a time of fruitfulness and busyness. This shift is disorienting at first, but ultimately it leads to a vision far beyond what I could imagine. When we try to skip the grief, the winter, we are at risk of missing that view. And that leads me to the second thing I noticed...
Winter is silent...
Nature is usually quieter than my usual life, but today it was impressively so. There was this sense of rest and peace over the whole forest, and it invaded my soul. I felt myself breathing a huge sigh of relief. Somehow winter slowed the whole forest down. As a result, the sounds I did hear were crystal clear. The songbird's song was the leading sound of the forest. It was like medicine to my heart. Even the wind was gentler because there weren't as many leaves to rustle. There were fewer people on the trail, and they seemed to be enjoying the quiet just as much as I was.
The silence of grief can, at times, be overwhelming. We long to hear solutions, normalcy, a return to the bustle and laughter of summer, a distraction to make the pain go away for a while. And yet, in winter, many times the only thing we hear is the pain. It can be maddening. At the same time, the silence is a gift. Grief is a God-given pause. If we are able to use the winter season to listen, the song of the savior will become crystal clear in our souls. We will begin to recognize the gentle wind of the Spirit whispering to our hearts. We will hear things we have never heard before. This can only happen when we learn to recognize grief as a time to listen, to pause, to be present with what He is doing in and around us. The sounds of the Spirit that are clear in the silence become the source of comfort in the silence as well.
Winter is lonely...
It really is striking how different the trail seemed with fewer people walking it. Winter is like that. The cold drives people away. We huddle up in our houses to find warmth and avoid being where the cold is. If we enter it, it is only from one place of warmth to another. If you choose to trek through the winter, it will likely be lonely. Not many people venture there. Our own winters often push away those nearest to us. They too are afraid of the cold, the dark and the silence. So the silence becomes even greater. Again, there is both something difficult and something very good in this solitude. Company helps me feel safe, loved, adventurous. Solitude makes me able to notice the silence and the clarity. Solitude forces me to seek the presence of my Jesus. The loneliness is both a source of pain and a source of connection with the one who loves me the most completely and faithfully. Grief is the same. While our pain often scares people away or drives them to try to make the winter go away in really odd ways, the solitude is also our opportunity to invite the presence of the God of all Comfort and to abide with him in ways we never have before.
We all have to choose what to do with winter. We can hide from winter, searching desperately for warmth anywhere we can find it, or we can engage the clarity, silence and solitude to discover something new. We can choose to prepare for the coming Spring by letting the cold slow us down for a season. We can choose to walk the winter trek in someone else's winter too. That's what Jesus did, you know... He walked our winter, fully engaged in the cold, the dark, in its death so that we would not have to walk in it alone. That's a good God...
As I walked along the trail, not very impressed by the brown, boring colors, I found myself asking God lots of questions about my life. Of course, because that's often how God is, I sensed God saying, "Shhh... just listen." So I spent the rest of my hike redirecting my active mind to pay attention to what was happening around me and in me. And man... it was beautiful. Here are some things I saw.
Winter is clear...The ironic thing about winter is that because of the deadness or sleep, the view becomes clearer. Have you ever heard the expression "You can't see the forest through the trees"? Well, in winter, you can't help but see the forest through the trees. There is nothing blocking your view. You have no choice but to see beyond what you normally would. As I walked along, I noticed that I could see people on a mountain clear across the valley. Normally the beautiful, lush green trees would block my view, but today I could see straight through them. I saw something I never would have been able to see before. I saw sweet talkative birds in branches usually shielded from my view. I noticed the vivid greens of the mosses that so far have survived the cold in contrast to the deadness of everything else around them. They seemed more beautiful because of that. And I noticed that the evergreens grew mostly in the valley along the river. None of these I would have been able to see in summer. We all long for summer (or spring if you don't like the heat), but when we retreat from winter, what do we miss? I'm a counselor so you know this has quickly become a metaphor for me!
As I think about my personal winters, I see the same thing. Winter, or grief, has been a time when I have had no choice but to see things in a way I never had before. Winter is a kind of a forced perspective shift. When we are able to allow ourselves to listen and look beyond the thing in front of us, we see things about ourselves, others, and God that we would not have been able to see in a time of fruitfulness and busyness. This shift is disorienting at first, but ultimately it leads to a vision far beyond what I could imagine. When we try to skip the grief, the winter, we are at risk of missing that view. And that leads me to the second thing I noticed...
Winter is silent...
Nature is usually quieter than my usual life, but today it was impressively so. There was this sense of rest and peace over the whole forest, and it invaded my soul. I felt myself breathing a huge sigh of relief. Somehow winter slowed the whole forest down. As a result, the sounds I did hear were crystal clear. The songbird's song was the leading sound of the forest. It was like medicine to my heart. Even the wind was gentler because there weren't as many leaves to rustle. There were fewer people on the trail, and they seemed to be enjoying the quiet just as much as I was.
The silence of grief can, at times, be overwhelming. We long to hear solutions, normalcy, a return to the bustle and laughter of summer, a distraction to make the pain go away for a while. And yet, in winter, many times the only thing we hear is the pain. It can be maddening. At the same time, the silence is a gift. Grief is a God-given pause. If we are able to use the winter season to listen, the song of the savior will become crystal clear in our souls. We will begin to recognize the gentle wind of the Spirit whispering to our hearts. We will hear things we have never heard before. This can only happen when we learn to recognize grief as a time to listen, to pause, to be present with what He is doing in and around us. The sounds of the Spirit that are clear in the silence become the source of comfort in the silence as well.
Winter is lonely...
It really is striking how different the trail seemed with fewer people walking it. Winter is like that. The cold drives people away. We huddle up in our houses to find warmth and avoid being where the cold is. If we enter it, it is only from one place of warmth to another. If you choose to trek through the winter, it will likely be lonely. Not many people venture there. Our own winters often push away those nearest to us. They too are afraid of the cold, the dark and the silence. So the silence becomes even greater. Again, there is both something difficult and something very good in this solitude. Company helps me feel safe, loved, adventurous. Solitude makes me able to notice the silence and the clarity. Solitude forces me to seek the presence of my Jesus. The loneliness is both a source of pain and a source of connection with the one who loves me the most completely and faithfully. Grief is the same. While our pain often scares people away or drives them to try to make the winter go away in really odd ways, the solitude is also our opportunity to invite the presence of the God of all Comfort and to abide with him in ways we never have before.
We all have to choose what to do with winter. We can hide from winter, searching desperately for warmth anywhere we can find it, or we can engage the clarity, silence and solitude to discover something new. We can choose to prepare for the coming Spring by letting the cold slow us down for a season. We can choose to walk the winter trek in someone else's winter too. That's what Jesus did, you know... He walked our winter, fully engaged in the cold, the dark, in its death so that we would not have to walk in it alone. That's a good God...
Comments
Post a Comment
Let love be our guide...