For Christmas, we got snow and a cold snap, cold enough to freeze the bay solid all the way across. Some brave souls even ventured out and went ice skating on it for what they said was the first time in 30 years, though we were not quite that brave. The mail planes couldn’t get in, and they had to finally send over a box truck on the ferry to get us at least some of our Christmas packages. We’re still waiting for some, which is going to nicely extend Christmas. When I explained to the kids that some gifts were still on their way and wouldn’t be here in time for opening on Christmas Eve, Christiana cheerfully said, “That will just make Christmas wider, Mommy!”
The barge was able to get in, but you could hear the thunderous din of it cracking through the ice all over town. The tug went back and forth a few times after it dropped its load, working to widen the path it had made through the ice. It was like our own real life version of Scruffy in the bathtub, and we sat in the living room and watched with great interest through our big picture windows. Who would have thought we would ever get so much entertainment from a tug going back and forth? When you know the tug and its cargo getting through is the difference between fresh food on the grocery shelves or not, that’s when. Real life is so much better than a book or movie.
We counted down the days to Christmas with candles, and on Christmas Eve placed the manger in the center before we sat down to dinner. Later that evening, we joined with our other brothers and sisters in town to celebrate the wonder of Christ’s coming at a Christmas Eve service. I thought, as I stood there with a tiny flickering flame in my hand, singing about the weary world rejoicing, about what God’s people did for hundreds of years past, persevering in faith and hope, waiting for the promise yet to be fulfilled, counting down to a date they didn’t know, looking and longing for Messiah to come. We may simulate the waiting with our Advent candles, devotionals and countdowns, but how blessed we truly are to be on this side of Christmas, remembering together that we are no longer actually waiting, but are privileged, instead, to look back and rejoice in the fulfillment of the age-old promise.
“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. For by it the people of old received their commendation...
These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth...
And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect...
Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” (Hebrews 11:1-2, 13, 39-40, 12:1-2)
I didn’t get out to walk as much as I normally like to this winter. And for the first time in years, I didn’t even touch my skis, because by the time I got through postpartum recovery and felt up to getting on them again, the snow drifts were being measured in feet, not inches. Even you avid skiers know how daunting breaking a trail through that is!
But circumstances are never an excuse for failing to find joy.
And I learned to really savor few opportunities I did have to snap a photo. These were taken while…
There are a lot of parallels here to the strange times we’re living in right now. A pandemic is weird, strange and scary, and we’re all feeling the effects of it one way or another. We’re chafing because we can’t go places when we want to. We’re missing people and faces and fellowship. We’re disappointed at cancellations and postponements. We miss the days when you didn’t feel like you were hazarding your life and everyone else’s every time you walk into the grocery store. We’d really like to have a normal conversation again that didn’t contain the words mask, CDC or quarantine.
Normal life will return eventually, but while you’re waiting, don’t miss the unique gifts and blessings that God may have for you during this pandemic. When we look back on 2020 in years to come, let’s be grateful that we learned new good lessons and lived this strange and memorable year well, instead of regretful that we spent it chafing for it to end.
If you walk out into the middle of the woods and stand very still for a while, a very delightful thing will happen.
You’ll note a tiny clump of British soldier lichen clinging to the edge of a mossy stump that would have only registered “green” in hurried passing.
You’ll tip your head up and see the beginning of the swelling red of the maple buds overhead, fanned against the sky.
You’ll notice the delicate lacy veins of last year’s leaves, splendidly illuminated in the morning sunlight, and also the way a certain flap of simple birch bark is catching the sun just right to make it glow.
Your eyes will follow the slant of a fallen log down to a hole and, well, look! The very culprit of the rustling himself appears.
There is no shortcut to the gifts that come from being still, but they are always incredibly, beautifully worth it. And, incidentally? The same is said for the soul and the best gift one could ever ask for.
When I was a young, aspiring baker, my mother taught me how to frost cookies and cakes. It’s an experience that I remember with striking clarity because, in her kitchen, not just any frosting job would do. Frosting (the verb, not the noun) was not merely a job to get done. It was an art form.
On mornings when I wake up to a frosted world, I can’t help thinking back to what it was like learning to frost. I enjoyed learning, but mastering the techniques certainly didn’t happen overnight. This refined coating of a thousand minute crystals deposited by a sudden drop in temperature, on the other hand, does.
There’s a new year rising, about ready to break over the horizon just like the sun was on this breathtakingly frosty morn.
This was a November unmatched for beauty, as autumn lingered gloriously long—and these are the quintessential pictures of it in my mind.
the rustle of drying grasses in the gentle breeze as the sunlight gilded it all to royalty…
the frosty mornings…
followed by warm and golden days…
But kind as it’s been to us, November is still a month of transitions as it must be, a split personality, if you will, bridging the gap between autumn and winter—and “they say”, whoever they may be, that the time of the inevitable change is at hand. There’s a winter storm warning for the weekend, and it’s time to finish that project of putting small girls’ mittens on strings that I’ve been putting off because we just haven’t needed them yet.
Rejoicing Hills 