For the first time in many years, Maureen and I took a real
winter vacation this year. The first few
days in February found us on the island of St. John in the Caribbean. I don’t say this to make you jealous, but
what’s the point of going to a place like that if you don’t produce, at least,
a few envious glares when you return.
When we checked into the Eco-resort where we were staying (in a canvas
structure overlooking the sea), the person working at the desk, after seeing
our registration form, informed me that she too was from Maine, having grown up
in Yarmouth. This theme continued all
week. The chef at the restaurant did his
training at Hugo’s in Portland. The
headwaiter learned his trade at 555 on Congress Street. Our bartender used to work at The Grill Room
on Exchange Street. We went into a store
to buy a birthday gift for Maureen. We
were waited on by two young women, one from Woolwich, Maine and one from
Limington. Everywhere we when it was the
same. We were surrounded by Mainers and
other New Englanders who went there on vacation and never wanted to come home
again. It wasn’t hard to understand. As we were lying under a tree on the beach
where the temperature each day was 79 degrees, it was hard to remember why we
chose to live in a place where the high temperature was 7 degrees the day we
left.
While the escape was great, we did return in time for the 35
inches of snow that came the week we got back.
And last week as the snow continued to fall, it was hard not to think of
those ex-Mainers down there on some Caribbean beach. The break was supposed to make the rest of
the winter more bearable. Instead, it
has just made it seem so much harder. I
have been longing for spring and especially for the end of the snow more than
ever. That is, until yesterday.
As this latest heavy wet snow fell on us, as usual, I found
myself dreading the cleanup—starting the snow blower, wielding the snow shovel,
the aching back, the sore muscles—all of it.
But on Sunday, as I left the house and walked over to the church at 7:00
a.m., I was suddenly struck by the beauty.
The snow was heavily coating, as Robert Frost put it, “every least
twig.” It was glorious. I realized that I had forgotten to notice it
most of the time this winter—the absolute beauty of it all. There is something so extraordinarily
wonderful about the winter that we can so easily forget when we only think
about the work or the inconvenience or the discomfort. There was no Caribbean beach vista that was
any match for the white wonderland that surrounded us right here in the
cold. Those ex-Mainers, sweating in that
stifling heat down there, should be jealous.
Every now and then they must miss it—the shear beauty of a Maine winter.
It is indicative, of course, of one of our primary spiritual
problems. We spend so much of our lives
longing for something else. Sometimes
some of us long for other climes, other homes, other jobs, even other
partners. Our lives are not quite what
we once dreamed of and we are sometimes disappointed. We have our discontents and it is perfectly
natural for us to have them. But so
often, those feelings of discontent come to define our relationship to the way
things are right now and we miss the beauties of the moments that we are living
in.
When we begin to long for vacation, we so easily lose our
appreciation for the lovely parts of the days that we are living in now. When we become impatient for a long hard work
day to end, we are most likely to miss some striking moment that might remind
us of why we took this job to begin with.
When we fantasize about the life we might have once we win the lottery,
we are likely to forget how extraordinarily lucky we are to have what we
have. When we are disappointed not to get
something that we wanted, that feeling can temporarily blind us to all the
other gifts that already fill our lives.
The key spiritual discipline that most of us need to learn, is to live
in this moment, this place, this season, this marriage, this life—fully and
graciously. If we are unhappy with who
we are or how we are, we can seek to change it, but in the meantime, the life
we have is what we have—it is what we are and it is the gift that God is giving
us right now and right here and we need to find the specialness of it and the
beauty of it and the joy in it.
And so, I don’t need the Caribbean breezes to blow through
my life right now; that was then, and this bitter cold north wind is now. I love it. I am finding the gift in it. I am living in the moment. The snow is beautiful. I enjoy it.
Who needs the beach? Those people
in the Virgin Islands probably wish they were here. I tell myself this—over and over. Who needs spring? Winter is my friend. Over and over, I tell myself.
Is this working for you?
I didn’t think so. But every now
and then, look up, pause, open your spirit to where you are, and see the beauty
around you, even here and even now.
God’s grace is in such moments.
Happy Winter,
David
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