One of the most painful lessons

One of the most painful lessons is learning how to appreciate the hush of winter, when more growth takes place underground than above ground, and there in quiet, unnoticeable ways.
-- Renita J. Weems, Listening for God


These days, I feel like a tree whose autumn leaves are strewn everywhere the wind has blown them. Some of the leaves I've shed are brittle because they fell so long ago and have lain on the ground for many, many years. Other leaves that have fallen are not as easily crunched for they just fell from me, though they are still just as fragile. And, while these leaves have fallen because I don't need them anymore – I'm preparing to make new ones – I'm tired of looking at them scattered about the ground. I need more than a leaf blower that/who will simply blow them into neat piles only for the wind to come along and rescatter them beneath my feet, keeping my roots (core/heart) from breathing and getting fresh air. The tree that is me needs something to gather those dry, colorless, and dead leaves; mulch them up; and make them into something usable, something that will provide sustenance for seasons to come and protection from the weeds that often creep up around me.

I explained the short version of this to a friend who offered that perhaps the "wind" in my analogy is God who is actually rearranging/reworking/blowing things around in my life to remind me that He has a purpose/plan/calling for me and if I just allow Him to/watch Him breathe my way, then I will see how any and all of this season makes good sense. Friend said that even those leaves that returned to the floor of my feet were lovingly placed there by the Wind for examination/response/resolution.

Don't you just love when people help you make sense of the madness in your head?

What I'm realizing more than anything right now is that all the leaves of my tree have been blown to the ground, I am bare/stripped, and it is in fact wintertime in my life. The season for me is dormant and everything seems at a standstill/cold/hushed/in hibernation. The Wind has required such.

But, below the wintertime ground, my senses are alive. I can feel – boy, can I feel! – hear, see, taste, and smell. However, the meaning/authenticity/depth of what I'm feeling, hearing, and seeing has yet to be revealed/take sprout. What I taste and smell has the tang of redemption/wholeness, but its full flavor is still maturing in the soil/soul.

Below the surface, I feel the roots of self-acceptance/forgiveness/joy developing. I notice things that were once staples/mandatory no longer feel necessary/acceptable. Incorrect/rebellious/radical/blasphemous beliefs that existed and defined me are being invalidated/plowed up/replaced with great supplies of truth/certainty/faithfulness. There is a trembling underground that cannot be contrived/denied/that can only be the Lord sending light through.

Though sometimes it feels that this wintertime may last a long while for some days/moments I get its aim/value/instruction/commands and can effortlessly/prayerfully insert my Self into its plot, enjoying both the tranquility and rouse I get from the chilled air. But, on other days, all I feel is wintertime's harshness/gloom/aloofness. And I get stuck in it, screaming for warmer, sunnier days; yearning for less bareness/dreariness; demanding to be clothed again, and soon, in a covering that wraps/protects/conceals the unpleasant/imperfections/troubles that just won't hide when the trees are bare. I cry out for the foliage of Spring! I even mull over/mope for the return of my dying leaves.

But thus is the purpose of my wintertime – to learn not to be ashamed/afraid of bareness/vulnerability/transparency/honesty; to never again seek flora that veils/deceives/pretends; to let go of what was useless/unsuited/life-draining; to bloom in the bleakness of where I am so that when Spring does appear – and it always does, I am prepared to pollinate (give/serve/reach out) in the new world around me.

In my wintertime, I will respect winter's natural timetable/significance. I will rest/come up for air, just as all of nature's plants and animals do, so that my spirit/soul can be revived, so that God's perfect timing can have its way. Underground, I will take comfort in the God of patience and consolation and consign my Self to His work/design on my life. While my world is dormant/still, I will gently cover my Self in God's blanket of truth/love/favor/mercy while He allows His winds to settle me around.

And when my fated leaves of Spring return, I will be even more thankful for the respite/tending of my wintertime.