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Archives for December 2019

Snowed Under

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I cannot count the number of times I have felt snowed under in the last months—even while the grass was still green, even when the leaves danced with color. The weather has now caught up with me. Since our big ten inch Thanksgiving weekend snow, it has been piling up—four or five inches here, a couple inches there. It looks and feels (with below zero temps) like the heart of Winter, even though it’s been less than three weeks since we’ve seen the brown ground. We are already snowed under.

The snow piled up on the branches of an old Cedar tree by the garden, pinning them to the ground. Being snowed under feels heavy.

Snowed under Cedar branches

The heaviness can infringe on others nearby; in Summer, the Cedar branches protect the Ninebark from direct sun, but with the heavy snow, the Cedar crashed down onto its slender branches.

The young Cedar fared no better; its whole structure is bent over with the weight of the snow.

Being snowed under feels lonely. Even though the death of a loved one affects many people, each person has to struggle with the grief in their own heart, in their own time. What’s visible to the eye does not even begin to represent what’s below the surface.

Being snowed under trips a person up—the path ahead is no longer clear, obstacles are hidden, footing is insecure, and it’s easy to stumble and fall.

Even the deer, who generally follow the same paths in Summer, seem to be disoriented with the heavy snow cover.

Being snowed under makes things seem blurry, like our previous clear sight has been lost, like we’re not exactly sure what we’re looking at, and even where to set our sights.

Then comes an intervention—it can come from a time of silence, a prayer, a call from a friend, a loving hug, or a walk in the invigorating cold air—and we get a reprieve from the heaviness.

We gather our courage and our strength—even when it doesn’t feel like we have any—and start digging. We are reminded or we remember that we’re good at shoveling, that we’ve done this before, that this too shall pass….

Just like this squirrel who remembered or sensed that he had buried an acorn in that exact spot where he dug through the deep snow and under the brown grass to get to his treasure.

There have been many times in my life when I have felt snowed under—caring for three young children while dealing with Lyme disease, the loss of loved ones and dreams, and the humbling, radical, difficult job of facing myself and my life and coming to terms with it (though a never-ending job.) I am good at shoveling, though. It’s heavy work, no doubt. It’s lonely work, for sure. I stumble and fall all the time. God knows I often do not see or think clearly. But at the heart of the winter of my soul is Love. It intervenes when I need it. It takes away the heaviness. It gives me courage and strength when I feel overwhelmed. It brings people into my life that will listen, lift me up, show me another perspective, and even help me shovel. Love is the treasure.

A Whisper of an Idea

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It kind of starts with a whisper of an idea that floats through our consciousness but doesn’t stay for long. These thoughts come and go, we rationalize—nothing serious. But the idea makes its way into our mind again… and again. It begins to p-u-l-l us forward. We find ourselves wanting ‘that thing’ that someone else may have, or we blurt out “I wish I had that!” or “I want to do that!” Eventually the idea takes up residence in our head. Now, there may be some clear-headed, mentally and emotionally competent people who recognize the invitation and smoothly and rationally execute the plan to ‘get that thing.’ I am not one of those people.

In fact, once the idea takes up residence in my head, I start doing all I can do to evict it. “It’s too late…,” “I’m pretty sure flowers don’t bloom in the snow…,” “That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard…,” “How in the world would that work?,” “That does not make sense to me…,” ” I don’t think I can do that….” Doubt, fear—make that Fear with a capital F, procrastination, denial, and ‘good sense’ take over, and it seems like the little whisper of an idea doesn’t stand a chance against the Goliath of my backtalk.

But let me tell you about the little flower that blooms in the snow. Ten days ago, I walked through the woods when it was still the season between the seasons, and I stopped in delight when I noticed the Witch hazel shrub was full of tiny yellow flower buds that were beginning to open. I knew this was the time, but I had forgotten!

budding flowers going into Winter

The leaves were still holding on, and the tiny buds and flowers were easily overlooked.

But look at how exquisite these tiny flowers are! The genus name for Witch hazel is ‘Hamamelis’, which means ‘together with fruit.’ The flower blooms at the same time as the fruit from the previous year is maturing. How unusual.

Farther along the path, the brilliant berries of the Winterberry shrub, a deciduous Holly, could not be missed.

Then the whisper of an idea, who seems to be defeated by my Goliath backtalk, calls in the power of the source from whom the idea has come. If the p-u-l-l isn’t going to work, we’re going to need some Push! The Push usually comes in the form of (seemingly) random events or occurrences that cause pain. In other words, buckle up, we are about to navigate a rough road, because pain is the ultimate motivator.

Ten days after ‘finding’ the Witch hazel flowers, ten or more inches of snow have landed on the spidery blooms.

Blooms in snow

Although the brown leaves remain, the snow makes the flowers more ‘see-able.’ (Hmm, maybe this idea has some merit…)

These flowers are tough—covered in crystalline snow and ice and weathering cold winds, yet still retain their delicate shape and Spring-like color. The Witch hazel flowers are like the ideas that call us forward, the God-thoughts that help us become a better, more complete version of ourselves.

Not only does the whisper idea have to deal with my Goliath backtalk, but once the painful Push comes into play, it also has to reckon with my Scandinavian stoicism. Stoicism has many strengths and can literally get a person through a difficult period, but it also tends to plant our feet from moving forward and to steel our minds to a different way of thinking.

The bright Winterberry, not to be missed, is like our daily lives. It is seen, lived, acknowledged, dealt with, conscious, and present.

Another common name for Witch hazel is ‘Winterbloom.’ I think our whisper ideas are supposed to bloom in our lives; in fact, I think they are just as ‘programmed’ as the winter blooming of the Witch hazel—meant to be. But these ideas are hard to see, often forgotten, dismissed by Goliath thought patterns, and overlooked by our bright and present daily lives. Maybe that’s why we need Winter—so we can see them better, so we can allow them to p-u-l-l us forward, so the discomfort can Push us through the stoicism (and fear) to transformation. We can be maturing fruits and blooming flowers at the same time. It’s been almost a year of some serious Pushing and even longer that the whisper ideas have been p-u-l-l-i-n-g me forward. I remember now! Flowers do bloom in the snow!