In the Deep of Winter
In the Deep of
Winter lies a day darker than any other: the Winter Solstice.
The light will come,
slowly-slowly. But it will come.
We will soon walk through the
Winter Solstice, the darkest part of the winter. I have
heard somewhere that this day is a reminder that the dark is allowed
to go only so far.
It is a reminder
that the baby will bruise the head of the snake. That death will
have no victory. That dark will not inhibit the light. That even
shadows will disappear.
The light is coming.
A long time ago I
awoke to the sound of a magnet falling off my refrigerator. A
stranger was digging through my refrigerator in the middle of the
night. I ended up chasing him away, only for him to come back a few
hours later. He didn't want to hurt me, but just wanted the stuff
which he had left in a pile. That year was splashed with people
intruding my home, my nights – some just attempting and some being
successful. In the end, it was my sleep was stolen from me.
Because my alert
system had been rallied by a small, small sound, I now listened for
anything. My ears, my imagination, my fight or flight… all were
awake in the dark. I would pray. I would quote scripture. I would
sing. And I would wait for the dawn.
Even now, just
remembering, my head feels on fire, and these tears burn my cheeks.
I mourn over that season. I mourn for how it changed me. How it
ruined a naivete, an innocence. It took two years for me to be able
to sleep again. But, now, even ten years later - I mourn for the
vestiges that make my stomach turn at a tiny hint of danger, real or
imagined.
What was stolen was
more than a Diet Mountain Dew and a DVD player, what was stolen was
my fearlessness.
And in it's place
was planted a fear of the dark and a hunger for the light.
I know that this
thievery of stuff doesn't compare to the thievery of health, of
mobility, of life, of marriage. And so, to say I am thankful for the
dark season, seems over dramatic. What do I know of the dark of
having a husband leave, a mother sick, a child born still? No. I
know nothing about those deep darknesses.
But I do know the
light. I know what it is to watch the clock next to the window and
to beg the seconds to click a little bit faster. I know what it is
to stare towards the east, taking deep breaths as if I can pull up
the sun with my lungs. I know what it is for my shoulders to relax
in relief at the first purple of the morning.
And isn't that
grace?
Our sorrows allowing
us to crave the morning.
And so, I celebrate
this Winter Solstice and the limits of the darkness.
A
Song of Ascents.
Out
of the depths I cry to you, O LORD!
O
Lord, hear my voice!
Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my
pleas for mercy!
If
you, O LORD, should mark iniquities,
O Lord, who could stand?
But
with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared.
I
wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope;
my
soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning,
more than
watchmen for the morning.
O
Israel, hope in the LORD!
For with the LORD there is steadfast love,
and with him is plentiful redemption.
And
he will redeem Israel from all his iniquities.
Psalm 130 (ESV)
Comments