Fondness for cold winter days

I have a fondness for cold winter days. I can say that relatively easily since my job does not expose me to the elements for prolonged periods and I do not live on the street. I pray for those most cruelly subjected to the elements, and, from my position of warmth and comfort, I give thanks for the blessings of uncomfortably crisp winter days.

On days of deep chill the air seems clearer and sound seems to travel with greater intelligibility. As Blake, our Doberman Pinscher, bounds across the field during his morning run, the frozen grass crunches beneath his strides, reaching us not only directly from the impact of his paws but also in echoes from the surrounding woods and homes. The sunrise seems brighter - not harsh but more white than rose and reflecting more than refracting, bringing often missed details to view. The nuances and contexts of ministry, theology, and relationships rarely know such clarity. Thanks be to God for both: for the unmistakable and for that which requires the effort of discernment. The former provides security and a way forward; the latter offers hope for what can become and assurance of our need for each other.

When the air stings cheek and lungs and seems cold enough to grasp, appreciation for the warmth too often take for granted yields thoughts and words of gratitude. As a child I gathered my clothes and rushed to dress before the single Warm Morning stove that heated our home. Now I shower, shave, and take my time selecting what I will wear. No small benefit comes in remembering that many deem my morning routine a fantasy. Nancy and I set our thermostat lower than most folks we know, but the coldest of days force me to give thanks for the warmth of my home (both in temperature and in affection) and to renew my intent to use my blessings in ways that extend them to others.

When the temperature falls into single digits, my marvel at nature rises. Whereas it takes me five extra minutes to prepare for our morning walk, Blake is ready as quickly as any other morning. He runs and sniffs with apparent disregard, while I shiver and shake. Who's the more highly evolved? The birds land on our feeders with no complaint. Spring mornings offer more song, but on winter mornings life resounds with each chirp. Beneath the iron hard earth, bulbs wait patiently without dying, roots gather nourishment, and plant and insect life prepare for new life. Without the rest that comes with winter's cold, we could not know the joys found only in climates with distinct seasons. Some prefer sun and sand. I give thanks for cycle even, perhaps especially, when it chills my bones.

I cannot call winter my favorite season, but it has its own beauty. I have a fondness for cold winter days and their reminder that fallowness and fecundity have a place, that contrasts can bring clarity, and that difficulties often point toward deeper dreams and loftier hopes. Perhaps one day I'll become a snowbird, but today I'll don a favorite sweater and give thanks.

            Grace and Peace,

            LP