Since I am a quiet person most people have no idea how many interesting thoughts pass through the turnstile of my mind every day. Then again, since I'm thinking them they seem interesting to me, but maybe they're not really all that worth sharing. I guess I'm about to find out.
Much of my intense thought transpires during my daily walks with my dog, Madison - hence the name of this blog. It's as if my mind needs to move beyond the interior of my house as much as my body does to really exercise. Since Madison and I walk or hike or snowshoe for at least an hour each day my mind gets a good workout, too.
Today I can't claim to have had any great revelations or solved some cosmic dilemma, but I did gain a new appreciation for wind, both the physical and spiritual kinds. As a Vermonter I am plenty used to cold and snow and even enjoy them sometimes, at least the snow. Snow helps winter pass more quickly by giving us something to do outside, whether it be skiing or sledding or, as I did today, snowshoeing. It's also good for the occasional day off from school or at least a delay of the start of the school day. A more leisurely morning never hurt anyone.
But there is one winter weather condition that I would gladly give up, and that is wind. A cold, dreary day is depressing but survivable. A cold, sunny day is actually enjoyable. But a cold, windy day is miserable, especially if it is also dreary.
Today was actually the cold, sunny and windy combination so it was somewhat pleasant. I dressed lightly for my snowshoe because I knew the sun and the hills would warm me up quickly. My fingers were a little cold at first but the worst part was that I was wearing a fleece jacket and the wind was cutting right through it. I couldn't wait to get to a hill so I could climb. I knew my heart would be pumping and the blood would be warming me once I started working against gravity.
And so it was. Between the sun and the exertion I was feeling quite comfortable within ten minutes of the start of our snowshoe (Madison was right there with me, of course). We climbed the hill and then headed for the perimeter of an open field next to the woods. Walking along the tree line and following some tracks that someone else had already cut, Maddie and I almost grinned at each other as we shuffled and jogged, fell through the drifts, felt the weak warmth of the winter sun and listened to our hearts pumping, beating, serving our bodies. How good it felt to be alive and healthy, able to walk and see. There's more to see on a winter day than it appears at first. The monochromatic woods and fields hide flashes of deep purple wild grapes still clinging to their vines, even after a month of freezing temperatures and many inches of snow. Bittersweet vines with faded yellow flowers and red orange berries still hug some of the trees. Bright red wild cherries call out to winter birds. Yes, the monocromatic winter landscape is not so much after all.
But our march around the field ended and we headed downward, toward the field that would take us almost home. It was more open and so the wind struck us sharply as we made our way. I kept my chin tucked inside my neck warmer and my head down. Nothing to see in this endless desert of snow.
Oh, but I was wrong, and my downcast eyes soon beheld a beauty that had until this afternoon had escaped my notice, or at least my appreciation. As I looked at the wind swept snow I felt awed at the beauty of the erosion the wind had produced. Everywhere I looked - ahead, to the left, to the right - The wind had carved a miniature version of a white grand canyon. Each mound of snow had been cut, shaved and sculpted into its own uniquely beautiful design.
As I write this I come back to a conversation I had with my son the other night. He is twenty years old and terrified about the future, his own and the world's at large. As he has studied philosophy this past semester he has become acutely aware of the suffering that is inevitably a part of life and he wants to know why it has to be that way. I cannot give him an answer because I do not have one, but maybe the sculpted snow canyons that graced the fields today are a small part of the answer to that ageless question.
We enter life so like the pure mounds of snow but then face winds that shape and define us. If we are lucky the wind will be just strong enough to remove the nonessential, the snowy layers that keeps us from discovering who and what we truly are. If we are blessed this process will reveal the inner beauty and strength we strive to develop. And if this process truly refines us we will use what we've become to help our fellow mounds of snow, especially those that face blizzard-strength winds. For myself, and for those I love, that is my hope.
3 comments:
I just finished a book by C. S. Lewis on pain. Related to your son's question, Lewis would say that pain serves at least a couple of functions. #1, pain is God's megaphone. Often it's a wakeup call that something needs to change. #2, pain serves to remind us that we are not self-sufficient. We cannot feed ourselves, support ourselves, or sustain our own lives without the grace of God to provide sunlight to grow food or self-healing bodies to recover from disease. We hold onto material possessions and family relationships, but they are not under our control. God gives, and God takes away, so it's pointless to build our lives around these things that are swept away like sandcastles in the incoming tide.
Thanks for sharing that, CF. I think C.S. Lewis is brilliant and much of what he says really helps those of us who live westernized lives. I can't help but think, though, of the many innocents who suffer for no greater reason than man's inhumanity to man. I am thinking in particular of the children of sub-saharan Africa. Most of them live lives of pure pain and suffering - they don't really know anything else. I don't think this pain is from God but the result of injustice and evil. It's hard not to become frustrated and somewhat hopeless as long as men continue such awful behavior toward their fellow beings.
Yesterday I heard a radio story about a new law that protects airline passengers from being confined to planes during aircraft grounding. Some guy told his story of being on the ground for seven hours and it was refered to as a "horror" story. No, that was an inconvenience, it was an unpleasantness but it was not a horror! Words mean something and if we dilute their meaning I'm afraid we become callous to those who truly experience horror. And then we don't do anything about it.
Beautiful writing and thoughts. I wish I had those skills so it's nice of you to share them for others to experience.
I like your idea about the wind molding the snow and the snow allowing itself to change. I think sometimes we find a mold we like and then resist any change for fear of the unknown mold. I'm in the process of trying to embrace the idea of change.
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