I woke up to an ice storm complete with power outages and school delays. This cannot possibly be the kind of day to celebrate a Year of Blogging with Flair.
But one thing I’ve learned after blogging every day for a year is that I can choose to find the flair in an ice storm.
What’s it going to look like to embellish with wonder and deeply infuse the ordinary with some spiritual reality? Can I do this again today in the midst of the humdrum and the common routines?
I’ve taken on the spiritual discipline of finding God’s truth reflected in the ordinary object: acorns, a cat’s injured eye, a snowflake, a wandering albatross. I find that bit of truth that shows me, by analogy, a kingdom reality.
The ordinary day shimmers with God’s radiance. The mundane does indeed become marvelous, and we simply have to worship.
Even when the ice storm destroys the freshly bloomed daffodils. All the fresh buds bend down. There’s beauty in the ice. There’s beauty in the bowed head of that daffodil. The daffodil, after all, is a narcissus plant whose name derives from the Greek myth about Narcissus. As you may know, Narcissus becomes obsessed with his own reflection at the water’s edge, falls into the water, and drowns.
Is it God’s loving hand that sends the thing into our lives that invites us to bow down in worship? The thing that reminds us that He is God and we are not? The thing that forces us (for once) to take our eyes off of ourselves and instead gaze upon the beauty of the Lord?
Send the ice storm if it means I bow down.
Journal: What bows me down when I tend towards narcissism?
We skated to school today. It was the only way to make it down the hill. “Keep contact!” I cry out to the children. We discover that if you try to walk on ice, that’s when the falls happen. But if you keep contact–never lifting your shoes–you can glide smoothly along.
Keep contact! I say it over and over again, reminding myself I will not fall if I keep my feet down.
Later, as I begin the morning rush of dishes, laundry, doctor’s appointments, responding to student emails, lesson plans, and all the rest, I stifle my spiritual self, my true self, designed to rest in and receive from God. That little mantra repeats: Keep contact and you will not fall.
On days like this, when I’m already late for everything, I remember that keeping contact matters most of all.
And all of a sudden, the day opens before me, smooth and clear as winter ice. I launch out, skating smoothly with the wind at my back and the sun on my face.
Journal: How can I keep contact with God today? Is it possible to stay connected on busy days?
Our yard and driveway transform overnight into a skating rink.
The trees bow or else raise their limbs to silvery worship.
The ice cannot discriminate; it covers all things equally, thoroughly.
That ice, although dangerous, makes this winter morning glorious. I look out the window and see how the ice upon the winter berry bush acts like a giant magnifying glass directing my gaze towards those buds.
The children pull their snow pants on over their pajamas and hardly finish breakfast. They skate on the driveway and worry over the tree limb that carries their tree swing.
It has no choice but to bend in a storm like this. Lord, let me be covered like this–thoroughly–with whatever reflects your glory. Let me bend and bow. In this way, I will not break.
Journal: Where do I need to bend and bow (instead of remain stubborn) today?