*It was winter.
We had a reprieve from winter weather for a few days this past week and weekend. There was not only no snow, but the temperatures were also pretty high (40s and even 50 one day I think). By the end of daylight yesterday, the temperature had dropped and it was snowing again, just a friendly reminder that February, the longest month of the year, is just around the corner.
Despite the cold temperatures, wind-chill factors, ice, slush, thick snow on the roads, scraping off cars, not being able to turn keys in car doors, etc., winter and I have come to terms with each other. Or perhaps I should say that I have softened my heart to the necessity of this somewhat harsh season, and have begun to appreciate its beauties more.
Like any other season, winter is part of the natural cycle of the climate I live in. My mother taught me not to scorn natural things, so I try to appreciate that winter is inevitable. Gordon B. Hinckley taught that life should be enjoyed not just endured. I tend to take an endurance attitude when it comes to life in winter. I have been very stubborn about this. Lately, however, I feel like the Lord has been sending me little "winter mercies" to help soften my heart to the season, or at least to ease the seasonal depression that hits a lot of us transplanted desert dwellers this time of year.
Our city welcomed us back from an atypically White Christmas in Cowboy Country by snowing for at least a week straight after we returned home. It seemed to be saying to us, "You think that was snow? Here's some real snow." The snowfall was not dramatic, just consistent. At 5:50 a.m. one morning, the earth bright with snow, the sky dark with the coming dawn, I eased my car out of my parking spot and felt like the only person in the city. I turned carefully through the parking lot when suddenly ten feet in front of me a little creature hopped into the beams of my headlights. It stopped and stared. I did likewise. It had a fluffy cotton-ball tail, dusky gray fur, and two long ears that stuck straight up. The bunny was so small, I continued to stare and wonder at how any animals that small can live through winter. It was a pretty sight there against the fresh snow. I inched forward, remembering I needed to get to work on time, and when I was only a few feet from it, the bunny hopped furiously away to wherever it had been going in the first place.
I saw my first cardinal of the winter the other day -- it practically flew into my windshield as I was driving to one of the neighborhoods on the other side of the river. And then another cardinal did the same thing as I was driving back along the same spot. One night driving home from a church activity after dark along a road that is bordered mostly by land and fields, I caught that glint of animal eyes and realized that twenty feet ahead was a deer crossing the road to join three other deer. I drove by very slowly as they all watched me pass.
After all of that first January snow had fallen, it stayed on the ground for a while because of the cold temperatures. And there were one or two days when we had perfectly blue skies. And then I was reminded that the bare trees lined with snow together with the white ground can be very beautiful when accompanied with the pale blue winter sky and the light but bright yellow sun. It was on one of these days that I left work accompanied by a purple sunset that I find hard to describe. All of the colors of that day seemed new to me. The icy blue of that winter sky was so different from the deep, rich blue of an Arizona desert; the sun a complimentary yellow, not dark at all; even the purple of the sunset seemed to have been painted with a palette specially designed for the day, no reds or oranges there---just violets and lavenders.
And yet, this is the one complaint I still have that I often wonder if I can ever overcome: That almost all days in this city's winters are devoid of sun. Without the occasional day or two of beautiful sunshine, I would begin to think that even the sun goes into hiding here in winter. I miss the sun so terribly. I yearn for it. So many of our days end up looking gray all over, not even white, just gray. The other day at 3:45 pm it looked more like 5:30 outside it was so dark. Even with the occasional beautiful day of sunshine like I described, it only takes a week of gray to make me doubt the sun's existence.
And so on days like today, I think back over all the little winter mercies the Lord has sent me to help me enjoy His Zemestan instead of just enduring it. And I remember and am chastened by the words of Moroni: "I would show unto [you] that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith." And I realize that I just need to exercise a little more faith that the sun is still shining above the clouds, that the earth's movements around the sun will eventually bring us out of the cold, that the Lord's hand is in all things. After this trial of my faith I know I will have the privilege of seeing the sun again, of feeling warmth again. As for the Lord's hand in my life, it was always there. Who else sent the bunny to greet me in the cold dark of a January morning?
We had a reprieve from winter weather for a few days this past week and weekend. There was not only no snow, but the temperatures were also pretty high (40s and even 50 one day I think). By the end of daylight yesterday, the temperature had dropped and it was snowing again, just a friendly reminder that February, the longest month of the year, is just around the corner.
Despite the cold temperatures, wind-chill factors, ice, slush, thick snow on the roads, scraping off cars, not being able to turn keys in car doors, etc., winter and I have come to terms with each other. Or perhaps I should say that I have softened my heart to the necessity of this somewhat harsh season, and have begun to appreciate its beauties more.
Like any other season, winter is part of the natural cycle of the climate I live in. My mother taught me not to scorn natural things, so I try to appreciate that winter is inevitable. Gordon B. Hinckley taught that life should be enjoyed not just endured. I tend to take an endurance attitude when it comes to life in winter. I have been very stubborn about this. Lately, however, I feel like the Lord has been sending me little "winter mercies" to help soften my heart to the season, or at least to ease the seasonal depression that hits a lot of us transplanted desert dwellers this time of year.
Our city welcomed us back from an atypically White Christmas in Cowboy Country by snowing for at least a week straight after we returned home. It seemed to be saying to us, "You think that was snow? Here's some real snow." The snowfall was not dramatic, just consistent. At 5:50 a.m. one morning, the earth bright with snow, the sky dark with the coming dawn, I eased my car out of my parking spot and felt like the only person in the city. I turned carefully through the parking lot when suddenly ten feet in front of me a little creature hopped into the beams of my headlights. It stopped and stared. I did likewise. It had a fluffy cotton-ball tail, dusky gray fur, and two long ears that stuck straight up. The bunny was so small, I continued to stare and wonder at how any animals that small can live through winter. It was a pretty sight there against the fresh snow. I inched forward, remembering I needed to get to work on time, and when I was only a few feet from it, the bunny hopped furiously away to wherever it had been going in the first place.
I saw my first cardinal of the winter the other day -- it practically flew into my windshield as I was driving to one of the neighborhoods on the other side of the river. And then another cardinal did the same thing as I was driving back along the same spot. One night driving home from a church activity after dark along a road that is bordered mostly by land and fields, I caught that glint of animal eyes and realized that twenty feet ahead was a deer crossing the road to join three other deer. I drove by very slowly as they all watched me pass.
After all of that first January snow had fallen, it stayed on the ground for a while because of the cold temperatures. And there were one or two days when we had perfectly blue skies. And then I was reminded that the bare trees lined with snow together with the white ground can be very beautiful when accompanied with the pale blue winter sky and the light but bright yellow sun. It was on one of these days that I left work accompanied by a purple sunset that I find hard to describe. All of the colors of that day seemed new to me. The icy blue of that winter sky was so different from the deep, rich blue of an Arizona desert; the sun a complimentary yellow, not dark at all; even the purple of the sunset seemed to have been painted with a palette specially designed for the day, no reds or oranges there---just violets and lavenders.
And yet, this is the one complaint I still have that I often wonder if I can ever overcome: That almost all days in this city's winters are devoid of sun. Without the occasional day or two of beautiful sunshine, I would begin to think that even the sun goes into hiding here in winter. I miss the sun so terribly. I yearn for it. So many of our days end up looking gray all over, not even white, just gray. The other day at 3:45 pm it looked more like 5:30 outside it was so dark. Even with the occasional beautiful day of sunshine like I described, it only takes a week of gray to make me doubt the sun's existence.
And so on days like today, I think back over all the little winter mercies the Lord has sent me to help me enjoy His Zemestan instead of just enduring it. And I remember and am chastened by the words of Moroni: "I would show unto [you] that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith." And I realize that I just need to exercise a little more faith that the sun is still shining above the clouds, that the earth's movements around the sun will eventually bring us out of the cold, that the Lord's hand is in all things. After this trial of my faith I know I will have the privilege of seeing the sun again, of feeling warmth again. As for the Lord's hand in my life, it was always there. Who else sent the bunny to greet me in the cold dark of a January morning?
5 comments:
I haven't seen any bunnies yet, but I've seen their tracks in the snow. Lucky you!
And the sun came out to play today!
SLC has inversions; weeks would pass with grayness. Being in med school I would start early and finish late so never saw the sun for days. I would get very depressed and didn't understand why. Until I went to Tucson for a few days like in March. Brilliant sunshine, blue skies, etc. Then I new what my problem was. Knowing what the cause was allowed me to deal with it better, rather than jumping off a fire escape at the old SLC hospital, severely breaking a leg and thus be forced to quit med school and return to sunny days, etc. Very interesting what the lack of sun does to one--especially if you are used to an abundance of it.
Lovely images of winter and your experiences. It was so interesting to see the beauty of color and light, flora and fauna through your eyes. I couldn't help but think of my winter complaints: dirty snow shoveled onto the edges of the road, cold, wet shoes, falling on ice or spinning out on ice. The relentless cold was never tempered by the appearance of a cardinal. But eventually there would be Mother's red tulips braving the weather and peeking through. And then there was the magic night when I walked to the high school during a soft snow fall with big fat flakes and streetlights making everything hazy and surreal. It was so beautiful that fifty years later I still love the feeling of beauty I had that night. Life is such a cycle. Mutti
And apparently I should blog more often -- cause the sun came out to play again today!
Cowboy: Sometimes people here (especially at church) claim that life would be boring if it were sunny all the time. I usually just shake my head and think they must be crazy, but now I realize that they just don't know what it's like to have an "abundance" of sunshine. I used to think overcast or rainy days (in AZ) were fun, but then and now I still prefer the sun.
Mutti: I've often wanted to see your mother's red tulips in the snow. It must have been a beautiful and hopeful sight.
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