I have thoughts and they blow off into the bitter cold wind.
I have ideas to post here in my pensive, a space for the swirling processing to be formed and shaped. They float away into the winter sun.
I have a cold. A virus exhausts my body. I sink deep into the negative thought spirals which illness all too easily brings. I’m not enough. I have no connection. I hide under the duvet waiting out the storm in my brain.
I wake up. I interact. The thought spiral has slowed and stopped. January carries on in all its slow stillness. Next year I promise my brain freedom from those new year thoughts, I promise to remember the rhythm of the seasons, that all around nature is having one epic duvet day. I promise to remember that slow hibernation is the mark of this month, not leaping into action. The fresh ideas of the first week will bear fruition one day when spring comes but for now. It is January and the world sleeps slow.
I read book after book. I hunker down in the cold and let the boys watch too much tv. I start to plan and scheme and hold them lightly as I realise spring growth will bear them into the light soon. For now I lay my requests and wait in expectation.
I am not the one who turns the dial to growth. I water and watch and wait and long for the deep work of our Maker in our hearts.
I forget to pray. I forget the bigger picture. I forget that we are held in love. And yet. I am. We are. Not forgotten.
Just winter trees.
Resting in the dark. Standing in the cold. Wrapped up in the long wait. Flourishing as we wake up each day for another day of rest. Stirring hope with each night closing the blinds slightly later than the night before. Breathing hope as shoots poke their heads out of the ground.
I long to lean into the rest. Embrace the wait of the trees.
I stare and stare at the stark branches splayed out against a cold blue sky and try to learn their patient rhythm.