This past month, Portland and the surrounding areas experienced an extreme ice storm. At first, fluffy snowflakes fell, making many of us giddy children ready for a week of snow angels and snowmen. Then it turned to ice. The world seemed frozen and we were stuck as a result, unable to move an inch without the risk of losing our balance. My daily walks with Ingrid became an insurmountable task with each slippery step and a constant tug-of-war between her boundless curiosity and my longing for a safe stroll around the block. Cabin fever set in around day two, and I could feel my insides knot up with frustration and pent-up energy began to pile up. Waiting for the melt to happen was arduous and incremental. Finally, the ground came into view; I removed the metal cleats from my boots, regaining the ability to walk with confidence again.
Then just the other day, a good friend of mine told me she had run into a former pastor I worked for in a small church. I haven’t spoken to this person in four years and still, the painful memories came flooding in like it was yesterday. A person I once placed my trust in and greatly admired inflicted wounds that I've had to recover from. Even though I never stopped loving and praying the best for this person and their family, they were still frozen in time. The conversations we had, the many meetings and disagreements, were encased in translucent ice much like the branches surrounding our house. Over the past few years, I’ve wanted to reach out and reconnect but was fearful it would be an unwanted attempt. I’m sure I did my share of wounding as well that is frozen in time for them.
I couldn’t help but tear up listening to my friend share about her interaction with this person. Years have passed and they have changed, as much as I have and yet we are both frozen with no opportunity for the melt to occur. I’m sure we both take insurmountable strolls down memory lane that leaves us exhausted from attempting to keep our balance between pain and grace. They say time heals all wounds and yet, time also keeps people frozen in time with temperatures that remain below freezing. Each day during the ice storm, I would step outside to test the ground and asses it’s safety. The days seemed to stretch into eternity as we waited for the temps to rise enough to even make a dent. Healing often feels the same. It’s incremental and arduous, with seasons of freezing and melting, then freezing again. At times, it feels like there will be no end, and often our woundedness will leave its marks much like the hundreds of fallen trees around the city. Wounds change us as much as healing.
Now as I look out over my yard, I can see the grass and wood chips. Ingrid can run freely without looking like she’s trying out for the Ice Capades. I didn’t know how much I needed to feel the dirt beneath my feet until I couldn’t. I’ve never been so happy to have Ingrid come in with muddy paws and be able to wear my rain jacket. Because living frozen is no way to live but many of us will never have the opportunity to witness the melt. And yet, there is still life happening under the confinements of the frozen exterior. During my slow walks with Ingrid, when the ice held life in suspension, I observed the buds on the trees. Framed in a delicate layer of ice, they exuded a captivating beauty. I recognized that beneath the ice, the promise of lush green leaves awaited, ready to unfurl with the arrival of spring. At that moment, I could accept its presence knowing that winter will gracefully step aside when the time comes.
I can say I have forgiven this person and some of the ice has melted but my response to hearing about them exposed that there is still lingering frost on the ground. It is moments like these where an incremental step has been taken towards seeing the ground more clearly. The Ground in which we both stand and move and have our being still connects us through the mycelium of the Spirit. We are not so far apart as time would have us believe, and so forgiveness is the only way to ensure our steps are steady enough to walk. And yet, unlike the weather, I have the power to deliberately keep them frozen with minimal effort on my part. Without witnessing the thawing process, I can opt to live with cleats on my feet and walk as if the ice doesn't exist. But living frozen is no way to live. The fact of the matter is that we are not stagnant people, no matter how stuck our memories may seem. People change as much as the weather does. But if anything can melt our frozen dispositions it is forgiveness.
Over this past year, I have been exploring eco-spirituality through guiding a Wild Church. Though this may seem pantheistic to many, our community is still based on the Christ tradition. For me, it has too. If we were taking our cues only from nature to learn what God is like, then god would be an unpredictable and cruel force that cannot be reasoned with. But if we take our cues from Jesus, the one who showed us what God is truly like, then we can see, even amidst the ice, the unfurling of life. We can trust that God has not abandoned us to survive the winters alone but gives us the means to walk through them. In the same way, if we only take our cues from our woundedness about what people are like, then people are assholes, selfish in every way. And yet, God chose to spend time with us assholes to model what humanity can be like when we stay close to Love. I want to stay close to Love, to not focus on the ice but on the budding trees. I want to experience tears of consolation and not the furrowed brow of resentment. Though many fallen trees may mar my landscape, new ones will eventually spring up in their place.
There is life on the other side of our personal winters but only if we have eyes to see it.
Peace and every good,
Oh Colette, thank you for letting us bear witness to your heart. You are a gift.
"Years have passed and they have changed, as much as I have and yet we are both frozen with no opportunity for the melt to occur. I’m sure we both take insurmountable strolls down memory lane that leaves us exhausted from attempting to keep our balance between pain and grace. "
This phrase alone deserves a long breath and pause.
love you sister.