There is a silence in the cold, frost-ridden, barren trees and brown landscape. It seems, in every way, dead. There is a forced isolation and with it, a redemptive promise of things to come. As I have driven around the back roads of Pennsylvania, my mind has contemplated the deeper message of this particular season. Even now, as I look outside, it snows. Understandably, most are waiting for Winter to pass. Signs of Spring are spinning in the minds of those who can’t feel their hands when they walk outside, where temperatures drop so low that the bite in the air is fierce and pinching. We look out the windows and see what seems like the bare bones left on the ridges of the creation all around us. In a way, it steals something from the vibrance of daily life.
Oddly enough Winter is my favorite season. Foolish I appear to those who hear me say it, and as I have lived in the south now for 15 years, I have come to love it, even crave it, more than I used to. Winter brings something unique that is often skipped or rushed through if one is not proactive to seek the treasure it offers. Death may line the surface, but so much more lingers below. Winter demands a waiting. Not only does it require this hectic society to stop and sit by the fire, it actually invites us into the wonder of stillness, warmth, community and delight found only in times of waiting and rest.
Waiting feels pointless, unproductive, and, more or less, a hassle to the accomplishments of the day. All in all, we have very little patience and almost no concept of redeeming the time for the development of our minds and souls. Always, the destination is the goal, while in the meantime we have lost a value for the journey. This season, this cold, barren land, whispers of a journey, a process, and a maturity at work. There are hidden pearls that must be sought after and pined for. It is uncovered only in active, purposeful waiting. In these moments there is a death to the plan, a death to control, a death to power. Forced inside, forced to stand longer, forced to sit longer, forced to think, forced to feel, forced to remember, forced to listen…These are lost values. As a matter of fact, we are afraid to think and feel for there arises regret and distress, memories we want to erase and voices that tell us lies we don’t want to believe. So, we stay busy, running, packing our days full with non-stop activity and unnecessary distractions. The rise of technology has created a numbness. There is now a way, with our phones, itouches, Blackberries, and other instant internet machines, to never have to wrestle through idle time. Now, when we linger in line, we can talk, email, search the web or just distract ourselves with a game. We don’t even have to engage another human being. What wealth do we miss that waiting has to offer? Maybe what we fear in stillness is essentially a passage to a surge of life, and an expansion of personal depth and meaning. Maybe the waiting is a ticket to overcoming and emptying all that gets trapped inside us: the pain, the suppression of darkness and the hurt long left unattended to.
The blustery wind tosses the chimes outside our door, leaving a delicate sound in my ears. The lake behind us, half frozen, has been the landing spot for a flock of Canadian Geese. The view of the weathered bird feeder outside the kitchen window has the most striking background of white snow highlighting the stark crimson of the Cardinal who frequents there. My eyes scan for these fortunes. These gifts are found in the waiting. A red fox scurries in the bare woods behind us, spotted so clearly. He ducks and dodges as if he knows our eyes have caught him. What still moves below the frozen lake? What is waiting under the white, frozen landscape behind us and all around? What buds of life linger in the trees so brittle and tall? The sun still comes up for a reason and these creatures still find food on what seems like a dead earth. Life is here, but hidden. Life is growing, but behind the scenes where we can’t observe. I love Winter for this reason. Beauty and movement and growth is constant, but in secret. Real life is most often this way. We miss what is cultivating and changing because we want to pass right through those dark spots, those lonely moments, those periods of lifelessness and death.
Not only have we been almost programmed today to skip over the “hard stuff,” but we also naturally detest pain and struggle and the taxing, twisting emotional work life requires for us to stay healthy. One of the most common experiences of the entire human race is the thorn of loneliness. Like Winter, it feels like a grave, leaving us isolated, cold and oftentimes hopeless about life. Loneliness is deep, at certain times more than other times, but it always settles like a mist around each and every one of us. Married, single, old, young, in the midst of loss, right after birth, well fed, or hungry, loneliness is present and raging. We hate it, run from it, throw distractions over it, make a phone call, drink too much, listen to music, stay online, talk ourselves out of it, and wish for that one accomplishment or arrival point that we believe will take it all away forever and ever. This particular universal norm, is steady and piercing. Like Winter, it breathes traces of stark landscapes and damp darkness. On the surface, and without much reflection, it is pointless and empty, only silent and cold. It bites like death.
The years passing reveal patterns. The young still believe they can find a missing key this side of eternity. Like we all did, they think it is possible to avoid loneliness and pain. As I interact with them every day at the high school where I work, I can see them pining for solutions, plans, goals and grades that will secure them from Winter ever coming. Sobering it is to me now that I thought this way, but I did. Maybe a best friend, the approval of that teacher, repairs made with my dad, a perfect career that fits all my gifts and passions, a solid paycheck, a spouse with a great look, a great job, and a heart like a hero...the list is long and keeps growing. The ache from Winter, the expiration of unmet expectations and desires still pulsing, blanket all of humanity like freshly fallen snow. Loneliness is inevitable and maybe for a reason. Maybe it’s good, like Winter. Maybe it’s necessary like the dying of the earth before the birth of Spring. I am learning slowly that it is a gift to the soul, one delivered in pain and loss. A process, not immediate...a season, not a moment.
It is true, that a life lived in, and embracing the reality of loneliness, instead of fighting it and running from it, is a life of depth, beauty and sacrifice. Hoping always for the first sighting of the daffodil means we miss the solemn beauty in grey skies, silver ice lining tree branches, calming silence, crunching sounds of snow boots on packed snow, sunsets through barren trees and the wind that howls outside while a fire rages in the living room. There is a sweetness here. One of my favorite authors, Henri Nouwen, speaks often of the solitude that must be sought after and deliberately chosen in order to find peace. We hate it, but if we did not fear it so much, maybe we would allow ourselves to sit in it for a time and settle in, anticipating the comfort that eventually comes. Active waiting, purposeful embracing of the chills that initially strike sharp, lead to the freedom we all long for. The freedom to be alone or not, to be still or active, to be quiet or conversing, to be in silence or surrounded by company. This is freedom: to be content and at peace with either as it comes.
Mental space is a foreign concept in many people these days. The fight against loneliness and the fear of suppressed thought rising up, keeps us moving and maxed out. This lifestyle saps us and shallows us. But Winter stills. Time alone opens up space and develops the depth of us. What we all long for in relationships is impossible without isolation, meditation, and contemplation. We enter our relationships with demands, and bleeding wounds for filling. Loneliness can inappropriately drive us where we have nothing to offer but our needs, nothing to give to our friends but our hallow, underdeveloped selves. But beauty arises in friendships when we offer one another the gifts that come from solitude. Like Winter, we offer the possibility of Spring. For how will we speak with wisdom, how we will know the truth about life, God and ourselves if we sprint with no breaks, if we never listen to what surfaces so we can replant it in the earth? Winter can’t last forever, it won’t. But it must come. It must stay for a time. The colors of flowers are more beautiful after living in the gray for a spell.
