Saturday, March 7
For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth…” Isa 55:10-11
One morning last week we awoke to find ice had dripped from the roof and frozen our storm door shut. I melted the ice with my tea water, and left the storm door ajar when we went to work. That night, we got home late to find the main door itself frozen shut. I traipsed through thigh-high snow into the backyard, up the unshoveled steps to our deck, and got in through the back door. The next day, fearful of locking ourselves out, we didn’t lock the front door, and apparently didn’t even shut it tight. We came home that bitterly cold night to find the wind had blown the door wide open for hours… No harm done, though we haven’t seen the heating bill yet.
That’s my favorite “Snowmageddon” story; what’s yours?
Often, when we talk about the weather, it’s just to have something to say. Sometimes it’s to avoid more important things we need to talk about. This year there’s something different about our conversations about weather–something sacred.
The depth of the snow and the intensity of the cold lead us to wrestle with profound spiritual issues. They force us to acknowledge the ways we are not in control of our lives: we plan special events with great care, and snow storms ruin them. The weather brings us face-to-face with our limitations: I really wanted to rake the snow off our roof myself, but I’m not strong enough.
The predictions that we will see increasingly dramatic weather in future years force us to ask painful questions about our responsibility for the state of our planet. They challenge us to change and to find hope that our efforts matter.
The snow and the icicles are dangerous and difficult; they are also beautiful. As we acknowledge the reality of fear and frustration, we are invited to awaken to beauty and promise.
The weather reminds us how much we rely on each other, and how easy it is to become isolated.
Truly, our “Snowmageddon” conversations are sacred conversations. In them we face limitation and claim power. Through them, we acknowledge our frustrations and open ourselves to beauty. As we share our stories, we honor our need for one another.
Holy One, bless us with patience, humility and commitment; awaken us to beauty and hope; bring us together to care for one another. Amen.