Well after a hiatus of holidays and then flu and colds bouts I am back and blogging. I went back and re-read my previous posts and it seems that my last post about being a “chronic failer” was really for me just as much or more than for any of you. I guess I’ve known myself long enough to recognize some trends. I also want to take just a line to say thank you for the encouragement from and friend whose inquiries about my love of winter have prompted me to explain just a bit more of my winter madness.
When I was a boy there was a field behind my home, behind a fence topped with barbed wire. I hated that fence. I’ve always hated fences that are built to keep people out and keep people in. I understand the necessity of them in our fallen world, but it doesn’t mean I like them.
And yet, I’ve learned to appreciate that fence somewhat. It was a challenge—a barrier to adventure and exploration that awaited beyond. Let me be clear here that I was not trespassing to scale this fence. On the other side of it was the county fairgrounds; it was a large expanse of open fields, pioneer era buildings and wetlands. All of it was open for the public to enjoy year round, but I suppose it wouldn’t have stopped me if it weren’t.
In the winter I would grab my cross country ski equipment and a couple of carpet samples and head for that fence. I’d throw the carpet squares over the barbed wire and toss my skis and poles like javelins into the snow drifts on the other side (gaining satisfaction from a successfully imbedded ski sticking out of the snow). Then I’d climb the fence and plop on my back in the soft snow of the other side. The world was now open to me. I think with that fence conquered behind me I felt the freedom that awaited me more acutely. There was an eagerness and a hunger that awaited me on the other side of the fence.
It was time to explore. I’d head for distant clumps of trees on the horizon or look for new ways to traverse the many ponds, marshes and the somewhat more treacherous river. It was never without stopping at the edge of the pines that marked the edge of the traditional fairground to survey the wintry scene before me. Freshly fallen snow exhibits more than any other element on earth a sense that magic really does exist. Not fairy tale magic, but deeper stuff than the day to day; stuff just beyond sight that nearly reveals itself in the innumerable sparkles that are the result of sunlight glinting off of each distinct snowflake. Perhaps for this more than any other reason am I drawn to snow.
After a few hours of slicing my ski tracks through drifts and having my fill of the days exploration I’d almost always ski to the middle of the field on the way back to my home, unclip my skis and lay down in the middle of the brilliantly white snow and just rest with joy and gratitude in my heart. If you are dressed properly it isn’t really all that cold and it can be downright refreshing after all the exertion of cross country skiing. There’s really hardly an embrace like that of the freshly fallen snow. It is your own. It is these times that I fell in love with the quiet of winter. Perhaps it wasn’t merely the quiet of winter that I experienced, but also the quiet of a heart that had had it’s fill of the adventure and striving that awaited me in those solitary days.
There are so many other memories of snow and winter that are dear to me, but that one reigns paramount to me and really shaped who I am. To sum up my love of the season I assert that it stirs the part of my soul that yearns for exploration and adventure while simultaneously quieting that very soul with radiant joy and peace.
So now days when I have an opportunity to go out and enjoy a good ski I view it as a divine appointment and come to it with a sense of expectation. I know I will not be disappointed. Nothing really beats finding a beautiful piece of land to explore with the grace of and thrill of skis, but it’s enough to pretend at it in my little lamp-lit park. I’ll take the blessings I’m given. That is really a learned thing isn’t it? To find the grace that is around us. It’s not always obvious, but I am convinced that God always gives it in such creative and sustaining ways. I’ve found mine for the winter months. What are yours? I’d love to hear about them.
