SNOW

1 a : precipitation in the form of small white ice crystals formed directly from the water vapor of the air at a temperature of less than 32°F

 

It doesn't snow a lot in Southern Alabama.  Almost never, in fact.  So when I moved to Nashville in college and experienced  my first true snowfall, it was a complete novelty to me.  That first snowfall was in early March, well past the time when most Tennesseans have given up hope of seeing snow.  You can never count on having snow during a Nashville winter and it comes when you least expect it.

This winter has been

warm

gray

wet

gray

muggy

gray

searingly cold

wetter still

And there has been nary a flake of snow.

Sometimes the absence of a thing makes you realize what that particular thing brings into your life.  As I've longed for snow, I've paused to consider just what it is I miss.

I want crisp white flakes
To look outside and see not grass nor leaves nor asphalt
Only white.
I want to wake to an outdoor blanket
Of the kind that does not warm, but silences instead.
I want the quiet
leisurely
pace
of a snow day.
I want pancakes
and hot chocolate
and stories read aloud under blankets.
I want the beauty
and the stillness
and to see the world in a brand new way.

My longed-for snow may not come this year.  Given our weather thus far, I am not optimistic.  So maybe on the warm, wet and dreary days of winter, I will come back to this post and read my word picture of snow.  For 2013, that may have to suffice.

May your winter bring you time to savor this season of hibernation and hidden growth. And if you have snow, relish it for all it brings and for its ability to help you see things anew.

RAIN

2 : to fall as water in drops from the clouds

As I write this, it is raining outside.  It's not done nearly enough of that lately.  Even two weeks ago, the grass was crunchy.  That normally happens around here - in August, not late June.  What started as a very mild summer has turned into one that has left us feeling parched.  I can't recall a time in my life when I've prayed for rain before, but I have done so at the sight of a gray cloud or the sound of booming thunder in the distance over the course of the last few days.  So I am thankful for the drops hitting our roof right now.

Rain is like so many other things in our lives: we don't notice it unless we receive too little or too much of it.  A friend was telling me today about a farmer she met who explained that his job was to take care of the soil.  Because if the soil is properly cared for, the crop in that soil can withstand a bit too much rain or not quite enough.  There are limits, of course, but it was fascinating to think about this continuum of acceptable rain that the soil can adjust to accommodate.

This seems an apt metaphor for my spiritual life in so many ways.  I can't control the rain or the crop.  I can only make sure the soil of my soul is in the right condition.  And once it is, it's not about how much or how little I do.  Although my soul (as the soil surely does) will crave more nourishing rain once it tastes its goodness.  We sang this morning about tasting his goodness, knowing his presence and feasting until you must have more.  Once we are well-watered, we feel the drought more intensely when it comes.

I often hear from God clearly and distinctly.  So when I go days or weeks without clarity, it's easy to feel unmoored.  Thankfully, I have a dear friend who doesn't hear from God as clearly, yet she longs to do so.  She sets aside time to be quiet and listen.  She makes space for him in her life.  But she is simply wired differently than I am and has a different relationship with God than I do.  When I go through a period of silence in my relationship with God, I think it's best for me to remember that my soul is designed to deal with mild drought and mild over-watering.  God doesn't require that I spend X amount of time in the scripture, offer up Y number of prayers and serve Z number of ministries in order to care for me.  Whether I know it or not, the soil of my soul is getting what it needs from my maker.

When my daughter K visited my mother last month, it rained while she was there.  She and her cousins played in the rain until they were soaked through.  That's what I'd like to do with the moments of clarity and closeness that I have with God - let them soak me all the way through so that droplets cling there even long after the shower has passed.

TWELVE

:the number of books I've read in the last month

I don't know about you, but I can tell a lot about my life by the number and kind of books I'm reading.  Because I'm always reading something - as are most people in my family.  Here's a conversation from my van this morning:

A: "Is it weird to have a comb in my purse?"
Me: "Why do you care if it's weird? Some people might have a toothbrush in their purse.  Some people might think it's weird to take a book with you wherever you go."
At which point K exclaimed: "What?! Why?"

So a conversation that started out being about the contents of A's purse (and why she can keep whatever she wants in there) ended up being about books.  We devote a fair amount of time and energy to selecting, reading and discussing books around here.

I've learned over the course of the last few years that I can use books to escape instead of using them to entertain, educate or encourage.  So does the fact that I've read a dozen books in the last month mean I'm on the verge of a breakdown?  Things are never quite as simple as they seem.  Because the last month has also held the start of summer break, a family vacation and more free time than I have during the school year.

Yet I would be misleading you - and myself - if I didn't admit that I have moved swiftly from one book to the next.  Part of this certainly has been a summer indulgence.  Part of it has been a physical tiredness that has left me wanting more time curled up with a book.  And part of it has been trying to find a way to cope with some disappointments in the way our summer is shaping up.

I do not mean to indicate that I'm going to stop reading.  I'm not.  But perhaps, even during the summer, I'll take a breath between books and make sure I'm not checking out on life when I check out at the library.

For interested parties, here's a quick review of the twelve books:

Bitterblue by Kristin Cashore - the author's anti-marriage agenda overshadowed the cumbersome, twisting plot for me.  (But you might want to read Graceling, if you haven't already.)

Wherever I Wind Up by RA Dickey - a book that made me long to shed my shame about my story and that made me admire RA's perseverance and Anne's support of his throughout

The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh - a book that is beautiful, heartbreaking and hopeful all at once

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green - the best book I've read this year - searingly honest, touching and unexpectedly lovely

The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey - not as magical as I wanted it to be (perhaps because I read it during the heat of summer - save it for November or December)

The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach - two baseball books in one month is definitely a record for me - this one's setting of a small liberal arts college and what success means made it worth my time

Enchantment by Orson Scott Card - a fairy tale princess and a modern decathlete experience time travel and find the truth behind our myths

No One You Know by Michelle Richmond - a mystery that is also a story of living life as the survivor

Liesl and Po by Lauren Oliver - a sweet, magical look at grief's place in our life

Once was Lost by Sara Zarr - the daughter of a pastor asks honest questions when tragedy occurs

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs - the cover is better than the book

The Fiddler's Gun by AS Peterson - featuring a great heroine and set during the Revolutionary War

Anything you've been reading that I should add to my to-read list?  Please let me know.

PRECONCEPTION

: an idea formed (as an opinion) prior to actual knowledge or experience

Last week, I ordered A & B's next math book.  This week, I received the used copy of K's math book for next year.  This morning, I reminded the girls that we're going to start math next week.  B was. not. pleased.

Frankly, she's been like this for weeks anytime I mention school work.  While we'll be doing a smattering of math throughout the summer in order to keep our momentum (and math facts), I plan to officially launch our school year in late July with a unit study on the 2012 Summer Olympics.  A, K and I are excited.  B, on the other hand, leaves the room anytime we talk about it.

So today I laid it out for her.  She can go back to public school - to homework, wearing standard school attire, following someone else's schedule, studying the assigned subjects - or she can be homeschooled.  What she can't do is have the best of both worlds.  She can't take a public school summer break and get shorter homeschool days during our school year.  She can't follow their calendar only until it suits her to switch to mine.

I said this to her firmly but with compassion.  Because I have my own set of preconceptions that have rocked my idea of what summer is and should be.  As I explained to B, I wish our summer contained long stretches of completely unplanned time.  I would like nothing more than to alternate trips to the lake with trips to the library all summer long.  Instead, A has ballet Monday through Thursday and K has speech Tuesday through Thursday.  So those long stretches?  Calling them weekends would be more accurate.  This isn't A's fault.  Nor K's.  It just means that B and I have to try to match our preconceptions with our reality.

To do this, I try to picture holding my preconceptions in my two hands and slowly opening my clenched fists.  Some of what I want will slip through my fingers.  I can either spend the summer mourning the things that fell through the cracks - or I can be thankful for what is left there in my open palms.

B has some choices.  She can choose to enjoy the summer we have or spend it bemoaning what's missing.  She can let her idea that the Olympics aren't a school subject dampen her experience of the games or she can take joy in learning more than Bob Costas will tell her.

I'm the same way.  This summer I'm trying to not only find a rhythm that works, but take joy in what comes my way and only momentarily grieve the things we might miss out on this time around.  Because summer will come again - and sometimes the moments we receive surpass those ideas formed without actual experience.

RHYTHM

3 a : movement, fluctuation, or variation marked by the regular recurrence or natural flow of related elements

With the start of any new season of our life, I struggle.  I don't consider myself a terribly rigid person, but I need routine, I crave stability, I long to find a rhythm, if not a schedule.  Summer is no different.  For years, I've loved summer - fun-filled days with my girls, more books than usual, hanging out with friends.  But this year, summer already feels short and after starting our summer with a week in Philadelphia, I am having a difficult time settling into a summer rhythm.

Here's what I long for summer to be: days that start with a solitary morning walk, breakfasts accompanied by good books, afternoons at the lake or Cheekwood.  Instead, there are liberal doses of reality: dance for A four afternoons per week, speech therapy for K three days per week, Fun Jar on Fridays, summer camps sprinkled here and there.

What I want is a fantasy, not reality - sort of like the life I imagine in the farmhouse in this picture:

I look at this picture and think, "I could breathe if I lived there.  Life would be like one long, slow inhale and exhale, not this shallow breathing I do everyday."  But I don't live in that farmhouse.  I live in a fairly urban neighborhood.  Even more importantly, I have three daughters who love dance, friends and staying busy.  I'm sure if I lived in that farmhouse, it would be packed to the rafters with friends, activities and dance barres.

Because no matter where we live, my daughters would still be who they are.  And I would still be trying my hardest to help them be who they are.  This means a different rhythm for my life than I would choose without them around.  But at least I'm not dancing alone.

Maybe one day my summers will be as slow paced, peaceful and restful as I imagine.  Until then, I'll just pray for the grace to let go of my own preconceived notions and go with the flow as we search for our summer rhythm.