A yellow paper crown upon my head, I sit aloft in my climate-controlled world and mock winter from behind double-paned sheets of glass.
The foolishness of winter confounds me. Trees, plants, flowers, animals boycotting productivity in favor of dormant rest. An earth that rotates on an axis that voluntarily deprives parts of itself from maximum exposure to the warmth and light of its sustaining star for months at a time.
But little does it know that I refuse to be deprived. The rhythms of nature can’t control me. No – I take its energy for my own and bend it to my will, planting stars in every room of my home to shine at my command at all hours of the day and night. And flip – the switch stays on.
Nature won’t tell me when to rest. I refuse to join its boycott and instead press on, pushing, dragging, clamoring for the ever-elusive results that will affirm my value – my right to even tread upon its concrete-encrusted sod.
Until I crash under the weightiness of my own self-importance.
And suddenly, the perspective changes. Like the bush outside my window, I bow under a pure snowy Right-ness that simply says, “Stop and be.”
Giving myself permission to go underground for just a moment, I see what has been hiding there all along. An army of angels – microscopic bugs tilling the soil to make fertile what a world of endless springs, summers, and harvests would render futile.
The significance of the smallness of it all astounds me.
And so, this winter, I will attempt to take a cue from the rhythms of nature.
To live more slowly and yet more purposefully. To absorb the warmth of childish laughter, bedtime cuddles, hot tea, and layered blankets. To indulge in the luxury of quiet reflection. To flip the off-switch earlier at night.
And ultimately, to lay down my crown at the feet of a wise Creator who bids me wear it with humility.
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