Winter Quarterly
From my bedroom window, the garden beds are easily viewed. I watched as a dusty brown house finch perched on a wilted celosia limb. Taking its breakfast, it rapidly pecked at the flowers tiny black seeds. Never once fluttering its plumage to regain balance. The little creature sat perfectly perched on a stem which showed no sign of bowing beneath its weight. Much in awe of the entertainment of it, I recalled the children telling me how a birds bones are hollow. In that moment I supposed I had never given much consideration to how incredibly feather-light such a common bird must be.
Like my feathered friend, slightly frantic to have his fill of seeds before the cold weather made such nourishment hard to find, I too felt a bit of urgency to conclude and tie loose ends.
In the hurry to finish the work which must be done before the calm of winter sets in, my heart longs for deeper rest and quiet.
After long weeks, the crinkles in our schedules smooth. The academic year finally connects to a cadence I am familiar with and can navigate with ease. The long hello’s to friends we missed in the summer months fall back into the steady pulse of weekly run-ins and gatherings. We find we have taken up new habits and desperately need to lay down some old ones.
Just then, the seasonal winds blow with its alarming, icy caress. A piercing coldness that caused us to reconsider accessories and begin to imagine evergreen garlands adorning the porch and mantle.
Winter knocks knowingly.
Whatever didn’t get done will have to wait until spring now. As it approaches, some years a bit late and others a bit early, I anticipate fireside evenings and bottomless mugs of tea, but mostly, the quiet.
After the holidays there’s a longing for an internal hush to enfold me. There’s an attraction and a hope for cancelled programs due to snow days, stuffy noses or session breaks in activities.
In turn we can intentionally be together. We trade in concrete plans for notations on the calendar in pencil because day-to-day commitments seem more manageable than long-term ones. Without looking too far off, the best we can offer is today.
Winter is an seasonal invitation to Sabbath. It’s nature calls me to do what I strive to do all year; draw inward but gaze upward.
We call it all off for the sake of doing what we ought to do a bit more of in the first place —which is to enjoy. The curling on the couch with littles to read and giggle. The desire to draw near to one another once more. The excitement in rejoicing and meditating a little more closely on our Maker clothing himself in flesh, and spending time with us through Advent traditions.
We slow down. We breathe. We pray. We rest. We lean in to the quiet; together.