Exactly a week before Thanksgiving, halfway through the season of Autumn, it appears that Winter is fighting its way to the head of the table a bit early. A nor’easter blew through Baltimore Thursday bringing sleet first, then snow, and finished with a little more sleet. The next morning, on my only full day off in a busy week, I laced up my waterproof hiking boots and headed out to log in a good walk.
Less than 24 hours after the storm, the sky was clear blue and the only sign of the previous day’s precipitation was the lingering snow and slush on the ground. By mid-morning, halfway through my walk, the sun had done significant damage to the white frosting. Some lumps remained by the side of cars where the snow had been brushed away from windshields. Some patches were guarded by northern shadows that protected them from quick decay. The remains of a desiccated pair of snow persons drooped in one front yard, pulled forward by a concoction of gravity, sun, friction and circumstance.
My boots stealthily maneuvered through pockets of slush as I navigated the sidewalks. The sound was fun to hear; a kind of crunchy slosh conveying the delicate and transitional nature of the millions of water crystals turning from fluffy to compressed. I was aware of the power of my steps and their easy ability to force that transition instantly from the impact of my weight and determination. Car tires were doing the same thing in the road, leaving tiny icy walls forming the pattern of treads on the tarmac.
Life can be slushy at times, especially in seasons of transition. One may feel “between seasons,” not sure whether to turn on the heat or the A/C. I have certainly known these seasonal shifts in my connection with God. Uncertainty can cause anxiety. Who am I is dependent on whose I am. So much of our identity is formed by the context in which we live and breathe: our family, neighborhood, religion, sports team, school, job, country. We like the security and assurance of being something, whether it be solid, liquid or gas. In our case, it is more important to be someone to someone else.
Slush is messy. It gets in the way, tracks in, soaks our socks. But it can also be fun and adventuresome. As I walked and slowly started paying attention, more mindful of the slush in particular, it became the way clouds can be: interesting shapes emerged, sounds of melting snow became more melodious, the sun’s reflections in the ice became more dazzling. Despite the bothersome aspects of the slush, I knew it would soon be gone, and so rather than curse it, I savored it--a bit of a Job moment of revelation. And joy emerged.
My identity as priest, dad, husband, human—none of that mattered. For the particular slice of life that was defined in that moment of time and space as I transitioned with every step and footfall, the view before me ever changing, I was simply an adventurer and a wonderer. That was more than enough. It was the simplest gift of grace.
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