Rhythms of Change

 

We are in the midst of a season change here in St. Louis, as we all are worldwide. The afternoon sun lights my house in ways that only the transitions to Fall and Spring bring. It's a light that overlays everything it touches with a warm, deep golden color. It lets me know more color is just around the bend.  

I love Spring because I am usually done with winter. Don't get me wrong, there are things that I love about winter, more daytimes fires, a few good snowfalls, and winter meals, to name a few. But I accept the season of winter more with resignation than anticipation. My attitude toward Spring cannot be more different. I particularly notice the change of the temperature with seasons because I most look forward to, warmer days and nights. Increasing daylight, birds returning, and not to mention an abundance of flowers from the bulbs I planted, crocus, daffodils, and bleeding hearts. All of it telling me that winter is over, finally.

Recently, I pulled out Hannah and Nathan Anderson's book Turning of Days: Lessons from Nature, Season, and Spirit to reread. I was able to read an early copy, and the timing of the release could not have been better. We were about one year into Covid restrictions and the new vaccines' early months. At the time, what they shared of their habits of observing nature and how natural revelation can tell us if we pay attention, ask questions, and willingly see what God shows us about Himself and creation, was instructive, reflective, and planted a few seeds in my imagination and practice.

Due to covid restrictions, I slowed down and attempted to practice what I noticed in the book. It brought a heightened awareness, especially of how Spring is arriving at my particular spot of land this year; I feel the rhythm of the season change differently. Except with a slight nod to knowing what will come, I'm not looking any further ahead than what the day brings. I know, from the inside,* the rhythm of changing light, snowdrops appearing, daffodils blooming  Watching it unfold daily is enough. As I accept what the season brings today, the rhythm of nature is working patience and gratitude in me that I've not experienced before. There is a settledness the rhythms bring if I pay attention to them.

While I am deeply aware of the seasonal rhythms this year, I see the rhythms of humanity's capacity of evil toward one another. What happens when those signs of seasonal rhythms are interrupted or destroyed by our innate sinfulness toward one another? I look at photographs and video footage of cities in the Ukraine where trees are stripped bare by explosions, courtyards are destroyed by missiles, and flower bulbs will not be planted in time to bloom, where attention must be focused simply on staying alive. The losses, known and unknown, are deep as the land, rhythms, and people are wounded in ways we cannot understand. I don't have a lot of answers at this point and may never have them. However, I will still hold the unfolding I see here and losses there together. I cannot do otherwise and stay attentive and sane. I'm responsible for both.  I'll hope to share my reflections here as I seek answers or find new rhythms that I hope bring some healing, however small.

*This is an essay by C.S. Lewis titled "Meditations in a Toolshed," an essay on how we come to know about our world and ourselves. Spoiler: You have to be reflective and active.