Frozen Hope
This winter, like the two immediately preceding, has
been mild and dry. Whether that is a
linear trend, or just a high point in the weather cycle remains to play out in
the next years ahead. The calendar still
says it’s winter regardless. As if on cue,
real winter has settled in the past couple of weeks.
First, it cooled down as a front approached so that we
got a taste of snow instead of sprinkles last week. Then the temperature dropped noticeably, only
to warm slightly as the next front approached.
That snow was a little more substantial.
The next day as a high-pressure system came through the skies cleared
and the wind surged. When I went out to
get the mail the wind was tearing loudly through the big white pines in the
yard – small branches and twigs littered the snow under the linden trees.
Today, the wind slowed noticeably, but it is still
steady out of the northwest. The brightness looked inviting as I finished some
after-lunch indoor chores. And tomorrow’s
weather calls for the first big snow of the year – snow from early morning well
into the night. I decided to head out
for a walk to stretch the legs a bit. I
would usually say here that I also wanted a bit of fresh air, but as soon as I
stepped outside I realized that the air was a bit more than fresh; it was
downright cold. It was cold enough that it felt like your breath froze midair.
As soon as I can round the corner and pass what is the
last house on the southern edge of the road, there is a large nature conservancy
to my left for the next 45 minutes or so.
The sun, already half descended, hung in the southwest. The wind was relaxed enough that I could not
hear it shaking and rattling the trees like yesterday, but it quickly numbed my
cheeks and tips of my ears. I pulled my
hat down lower.
The sun seemed totally ineffective despite its
brightness. It was if the rays froze as
they radiated out across the blue sky.
The blue itself seemed frozen.
Maybe it was the reflections off of the snow that seemed to thin the hue
so that it was pale and weak.
Except for the large ponds that were dredged about ten
years ago to collect rainwater and provide waterfowl habitat, the fields are
fallow grasslands and some restored prairie.
Although the prairie grass usually stands over six feet high, the snow
that fell the other day was heavy and wet.
The snow knocked down the grasses and held them pinned to the
ground. It gave an odd look of ripples
and tufts across the horizon as far as I could see. The facets that faced the sun gleamed
crystalline in the late afternoon sun, but the backsides were shadowed in deep
blues and purples. Looking out across
the expanse it almost gave a sense that it was revealing another dimension.
What I noticed most of all was the silence. It was as if sound itself was frozen. The silence was not threatening; it was
inviting. I prayed that no car would
drive by and spoil the moment. None
did. In such a moment, you realize that
it is a prayer just to stop and to see. It
is at such times that you appreciate that the one thing that can not be frozen
hard, still and cold is hope. Hope is
forever near, supple, fresh and alive.
“Therefore, having been justified by
faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we
also have obtained our introduction by faith into
this grace in which we stand; and we celebrate in
hope of the glory of God. And
not only this, but we also celebrate in our
tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and
perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and
hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been
poured out within our hearts through the
Holy Spirit who was given to us.”
Romans 5:1-5
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
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