Thursday, January 19, 2012
the grace of a wide open sky
It's 11:30 am and the temperature outside is -6. My fingers are stiff and red from taking these pictures, although I was only outside for a few minutes. There's a stark beauty in this kind of cold. Even though the trees are sleeping and bare they look like they might be praising God in spite of themselves. But it is difficult to stay in the freezing temperatures long enough to actually see what is here.
I'm thinking of things that have defined me in my sleeping past. There is sadness and betrayal and loss. There is fear and bewilderment and loneliness. There is unfathomable cold.
But these are only partial truths. My memory sometimes plays tricks on me. My mind wants to both hover on the pain and ignore it at the same time. It neglects the elements that are bright and holy. But when I take the time to look around carefully, I'm amazed at the stark beauty of my history.
There is survival and laughter and grace. There is healing and friendship and forgiveness. With stiff fingers, I'm framing a view that is surprising to me, the sun shining so brightly that it's hard to see what I'm capturing.
I'm noticing the frozen fingers of the trees demonstrating how to live in the grace of a wide open sky, carrying the memory of every Winter that has given way to Spring.