Now is the Winter...
You know how the quote goes: "Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by the sons of York." But, with me, it's the other way round. I've finally reached a winter of the mind after torrid monsoon months of sticky heat, and I'm so grateful!
To my memory it beseemeth that I have explained this before, how my mental landscape goes through seasonal patterns. For the last three weeks I have been in an overheated summer of turbulent thoughts, trying to settle in at home, trying to discipline myself to a different lifestyle, trying to get up every morning at 7:30 AM. All this has been as an Amazon rainforest to me, the which I choose to call it because damp heat is my nemesis.
But now the sweet northern coldness has come again, and all my thoughts are overlaid with a patterned lace of frost, and I can breathe freely. So I say, "now is the winter come, and my summer of discontent is passing before its icy calm."
I wake naturally now about 15 minutes before the alarm goes off, early enough to catch the last of the sunrise through my east-facing windows. My quiet times are a regular rhythm, like a heartbeat, and just as essential. Weathermen tell us that this summer will be cool and rainy, which is suitable in every way. I have a Library for the rain, and coolness is sanity to me.
My room is orderly; the house and household have calmed somewhat from their frenetic pace; today I sat in the white wicker lawn furniture during the lunch hour, under Mother's pavilion, and sipped iced tea (there is such a something of ambrosia about cooled raspberry-apple tea) and conversed with Laura about churches, religious experiences, music styles, and those rare songs that combine all the confessional value of a hymn with the passion of a praise chorus.
I can work for three hours straight without becoming fidgety now. I went to the public library this evening and fetched myself a stack of eight books or so from the Reading List shelf. How really kind of the librarians, to separate out everything that the critics consider to be "worth reading." Many of the titles are familiar by now: The Old Man and the Sea, David Copperfield, Fahrenheit 451... I chose the ones that I have heard of, but never read (Madame Bovary, Doctor Zhivago, The Age of Innocence), plus one or two old favorites--Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew.
It being the Parents' date night, and since the girls are at the church serving for ALPHA, and since Nathan is off I know not whither, I met Danya, our cousin Ned, and Grandma at Starbucks. We read in companionable silence until closing time, and came home again. Surveying the tranquility of my mind on the 7-minute ride home, I came to this conclusion: now that sanity has returned, it is time to set about service.
Order is not enough. Being at home reveals much sin, much self-centeredness, and the opportunity to deal with these offenses against a holy God is one of the greatest blessings to be found in the summer months. It is time now to sit at Mama's feet and learn from her gentleness and wisdom. It is time to make opportunities for deepening sibling relationships. How much longer will I have Nathan and Mike and Danya? They will all be married soon. What about Charity and Burgee? They are young ladies now, and look to me for an example that they can follow. This frightens me, but I cannot escape it.
What about my grandparents who now live in our home? I am gone all day at the office; where shall I find or make time to draw them out? And Mama--how can I serve Mama? How can I make friends with the girls in my caregroup? Who is the Lord giving me to pray for?
All these are questions fitted with answers that will trouble the smooth surface of my new-polished thoughts, and make footprints in all that fresh snow. But it's all right; snow was made for footprints, and my life is made for servant-hearted love, not selfish pleasure. I would prefer to retreat into the garden each evening, read until the light fades, and then come in to find a meal made and no demands on my time. Life isn't about that, though. Pleasant times are sweet, and sweetly to be enjoyed, but not wallowed in or needlessly prolonged.
I write all this not to make a sermon--I write it to remind myself of what the Christian life is, for I dearly desire to make it all ease and no toil. And why do we toil? For white shores, and a swift sunrise, and a face which I hope that I shall recognize at once, though I have never seen it. We do it because there is a beauty, a dignity and depth, in such humility. We do it because we are crowned heads, and this is what we are made for.
And now, what is left but to pray, "Lord, let me not attempt it in my own strength. Inflame my soul with love of you, and fill my vision, and be my God. Teach me to love, and help my unbelief, and bring me home at last to the heart of your heart, where I shall be at rest as it is impossible to be at rest here on earth. Let me not love the world."
And thank you, for saving me from eternal night.
To my memory it beseemeth that I have explained this before, how my mental landscape goes through seasonal patterns. For the last three weeks I have been in an overheated summer of turbulent thoughts, trying to settle in at home, trying to discipline myself to a different lifestyle, trying to get up every morning at 7:30 AM. All this has been as an Amazon rainforest to me, the which I choose to call it because damp heat is my nemesis.
But now the sweet northern coldness has come again, and all my thoughts are overlaid with a patterned lace of frost, and I can breathe freely. So I say, "now is the winter come, and my summer of discontent is passing before its icy calm."
I wake naturally now about 15 minutes before the alarm goes off, early enough to catch the last of the sunrise through my east-facing windows. My quiet times are a regular rhythm, like a heartbeat, and just as essential. Weathermen tell us that this summer will be cool and rainy, which is suitable in every way. I have a Library for the rain, and coolness is sanity to me.
My room is orderly; the house and household have calmed somewhat from their frenetic pace; today I sat in the white wicker lawn furniture during the lunch hour, under Mother's pavilion, and sipped iced tea (there is such a something of ambrosia about cooled raspberry-apple tea) and conversed with Laura about churches, religious experiences, music styles, and those rare songs that combine all the confessional value of a hymn with the passion of a praise chorus.
I can work for three hours straight without becoming fidgety now. I went to the public library this evening and fetched myself a stack of eight books or so from the Reading List shelf. How really kind of the librarians, to separate out everything that the critics consider to be "worth reading." Many of the titles are familiar by now: The Old Man and the Sea, David Copperfield, Fahrenheit 451... I chose the ones that I have heard of, but never read (Madame Bovary, Doctor Zhivago, The Age of Innocence), plus one or two old favorites--Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew.
It being the Parents' date night, and since the girls are at the church serving for ALPHA, and since Nathan is off I know not whither, I met Danya, our cousin Ned, and Grandma at Starbucks. We read in companionable silence until closing time, and came home again. Surveying the tranquility of my mind on the 7-minute ride home, I came to this conclusion: now that sanity has returned, it is time to set about service.
Order is not enough. Being at home reveals much sin, much self-centeredness, and the opportunity to deal with these offenses against a holy God is one of the greatest blessings to be found in the summer months. It is time now to sit at Mama's feet and learn from her gentleness and wisdom. It is time to make opportunities for deepening sibling relationships. How much longer will I have Nathan and Mike and Danya? They will all be married soon. What about Charity and Burgee? They are young ladies now, and look to me for an example that they can follow. This frightens me, but I cannot escape it.
What about my grandparents who now live in our home? I am gone all day at the office; where shall I find or make time to draw them out? And Mama--how can I serve Mama? How can I make friends with the girls in my caregroup? Who is the Lord giving me to pray for?
All these are questions fitted with answers that will trouble the smooth surface of my new-polished thoughts, and make footprints in all that fresh snow. But it's all right; snow was made for footprints, and my life is made for servant-hearted love, not selfish pleasure. I would prefer to retreat into the garden each evening, read until the light fades, and then come in to find a meal made and no demands on my time. Life isn't about that, though. Pleasant times are sweet, and sweetly to be enjoyed, but not wallowed in or needlessly prolonged.
I write all this not to make a sermon--I write it to remind myself of what the Christian life is, for I dearly desire to make it all ease and no toil. And why do we toil? For white shores, and a swift sunrise, and a face which I hope that I shall recognize at once, though I have never seen it. We do it because there is a beauty, a dignity and depth, in such humility. We do it because we are crowned heads, and this is what we are made for.
And now, what is left but to pray, "Lord, let me not attempt it in my own strength. Inflame my soul with love of you, and fill my vision, and be my God. Teach me to love, and help my unbelief, and bring me home at last to the heart of your heart, where I shall be at rest as it is impossible to be at rest here on earth. Let me not love the world."
And thank you, for saving me from eternal night.
posted by Praelucor at 9:15 PM
1 Comments:
Such a good reminder to serve over our summers... know from living at home year-round how much my self-centeredness sometimes shows itself to my family. I'm enjoying this summer having more time to spend with my family, to go on fun outings with my sisters, to cook dinner once a week, but I still sense the part of me that expects to come home from a long day in the office and expect to be served (not the other way around)....
Love is so unnatural to me. It doesn't grow in this heart on its own, only selfishness does. Lord, teach me how to love with Your love...
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