(after the storm)
Earlier this evening, I snowshoed down to the pond and into the woods, and along the way, I looked down to see that I was wearing only one snowshoe…
Later, we drove our car down our un-plowed driveway, and over to a friend’s house for a gathering, where I opened the bag of slippers I’d packed, and found only one…
i think it was Anne Lamott who said (about the dropping of the “other” shoe):
Haven’t you heard, God only has one.
When I worked in a church (which is still a funny thing to say, even though it was only a year, and it was UU, and it’s no more surreal than saying I am a yoga/dance instructor), we would arrive to our offices on days like today, and it wouldn’t be enough to wear layers (that building was exceedingly cold.)
In order to face the work ahead of us, we’d each light a candle on our desks–the Minister, the Church Secretary and me–the Director of Religious Education Although we were each in our own office, there was something about this mutual lighting that lent warmth and connection on dark days.
I imagine that it was the minister who began this lighting ritual, being Swedish and all (a country whose northern climate deepens into a darkness unimaginable to most.) She had one of those IKEA lanterns on her desk, and I had one at home so I brought it in.
It’s a habit I continue to this day–lighting the darkness around me–not only at night–but at daybreak and throughout any dark day. (Though as I age I rely on battery operated candles and twinkle lights and space heaters and lots of hot tea.)
I adore sunlight in winter and rely upon it for sanity, but I’ve learned to welcome these shrouded days, cocooned in darkness, for the way they deepen my attention to what it is to lend light, and how light can bless even the hardest way…