Ebb and flow. A rush and silence.
If only it were the ocean instead of a bone-chilling February day not even set to break freezing.
My mom always tells me that winter has its own distinct beauty--bare and minimalistic.
Beauty I find not. The world looks harsh and hard, like the angular structure of a bitter old woman's jaw, which has found its strength in being clenched.
And it's so quiet.
Chirping birds, laughing children, barking dogs are lost from this wintry soundtrack because, well, no one wants to be outside for a reason.
So it's just the gentle whip of tidal winds that whispers wistfully, crinkling what few brown leaves are left dangling upon a forlorn tree branch.
It's the season that poets use to signify death or withering old age. Shriveled and dying, I don't hear of nearly as many people who long for winter as the record-breaking number of people who long for autumn's painterly charm (and pumpkin-spiced everything) or spring's mighty rejuvenation of warmth.
But there it sits tucked between two realms of beauty, lackluster and unappreciated.
A time of "I wish it were something else," instead of, "I wish it could last for always."
Tedious as some of us may find it, is it possible that winter not only carries some hidden-from-view beauty, but that it also holds a solid purpose?
Is winter really that important?
I sought to find an answer sufficient to justify this past week of skating rink-worthy highways and wasn't disappointed.
Matthew Kronsberg provides some insight, explaining that not only does cold weather get rid of pesky bugs and pathogens, but also,
"Proper cold serves another important purpose: For perennial crops, shorter days and sustained low temperatures bring a cycle of dormancy, a deep, almost anesthetized sleep, during which growth is temporarily halted. Measured in 'chilling hours,' this is the time when plants' energy is held in reserve, building up for new growth ... Without sufficient chilling time, a fruit tree will generate fewer, weaker buds, limiting fruit production from day one." (grist.org, para 2-3, emphasis mine).
As it turns out, it appears that if plants don't freeze right, they won't bloom right.
Which means that a beautiful spring and a plentiful harvest--those lovely seasons that bookend this time of bitter cold--depend on winter to be biting and ugly.
And just as the world can't bloom without hardship, neither can we.
I challenge you to think for a moment about all of the people in your life whom you deem to be a rarity--a treasure in this world; a faith in humanity restored; a gem in the dust.
Think of the plentiful harvest of integrity that lay in Joseph in the Bible--following only being beaten, wrongfully imprisoned, and forgotten much of his early and young adult life.
Recall Abraham, who became the father of all nations--but only after he and his wife Sarah were bitterly barren until their very old age.
Consider Jesus who had to first undergo taunting, betrayal, torture, and a gruesome crucifixion before he rose as the great Messiah who could offer salvation to the world.
Think of the ugliness that was. And think of the beauty that it became.
Consider all that can quietly take place during the chilling hours of your heart--ridding it of the bad and transforming it for something wonderful.
Unfortunately, our lives can't be one constant season of plenty and beauty.
Or should I say, fortunately, it can't?
For how can you learn to love the light
until you've fumbled in the dark?
How can you learn to savor a hearty meal
until you've understood the pangs of hunger?
What good is the sweet taste of water
unless your throat has ached for moisture?
What joy does having anything possess unless you've had to be without it?
For being without something you cherish can be hard.
But failing to experience unabashed joy because you lack any comparison is a tragedy.
That cold, that season of hardship--whether you're in it or you can recall it--is what the Lord uses to prepare us for the beauty of blooming and for the purpose of fruitfulness.
One can't exist without the other.
May we lie dormant in the winter air--knowing that the hardship may appear to have stolen our vibrancy on the surface, but also having full clarity that the Lord is quietly at work within.
May it be less of a time of "I wish it were something else," and more of, "I take it for what it is."
You're being readied for beauty, my friend.
And the cold? Well...
It really shouldn't bother you anyway.
"The wilderness and the desert will be glad, and the Arabah will rejoice and blossom; like the crocus, it will blossom profusely and rejoice with rejoicing and shouts of joy." ~Isaiah 35:1-2
