Reflections on January(s)
The sharp ice lodged itself in my hair, as I locked the front door and hurried from house to car in the midst of the morning's showers of sleet and hail. The drive to work was slow, the road slippery, and it was one of those harshly cold days that made me simply wish to curl up beneath a blanket with a good book and a milky mug of Earl Grey.
I've been contemplating the merit and curse of an independent spirit recently. Trying to lay down the heavy burden of expectations and perfection and comparison, the proving and the pushing. For so many by-gone seasons, I've spent too many hours thinking about the people who disappointed me, rather than the ones who showed up again and again. Supporting. Healing. Loving.
Januaries seem out to get me, I once said.
For in the most recent years, Januaries have been filled with dark deep shadows--seasons when I’ve been dimly aware of the goodness of God, but that goodness hasn’t seemed nearly as real or present to me as my own frustrations and sadness.
And though this January was not exactly easy, it has been far better. His grace is healing my cynical heart, thawing the ice and fear inside.
Home again in the evening, I shoveled the driveway and sidewalks, scraping the uneven cement squares, freeing them from a day's worth of snow. It was a beautiful metaphor, I thought later, reflecting on frozen hearts and frozen roads as I removed my soaking wet socks and tossed them down the kitchen laundry chute.
Spring comes slowly. But perhaps by next January, I'll be freed from all these Januaries past, and feel a little less uneven.