An unfamiliar season

It was a familiar trail in a place I had been to over and over, yet this time I recognized nothing.

It had the same starting point, the same ending, the same rhythm of walking, yet nothing was the same. Sounds were muffled. Colors were erased into white. The only smell was the cold.

A familiar place in an unfamiliar season made this a journey I didn’t quite expect.

Strapping my hiking boots into snowshoes changed my cadence into a duck-footed waddle, slowly easing into a more natural gait with time. Graceful? Not hardly. Practical? Definitely.

The 400 or more inches of snow beneath my feet elevated my perspective, making me eye level with the tops of the trees. The driving snow shortened my view, forcing me to focus on the world immediately around me, which I realized I often miss, distracted by the distant landscape or the hope of a view.

Today it was about the journey, and however far I went, even a short trek, made it a good beginning. I had finally gained the courage and the momentum to experience one of the places I love in a season that makes me feel more mortal than any other.

More and more I recognize that with each passing moment this same mortality tightens its grip, making me aware that now is the time: to try new things, to explore, to grow, to listen, to seek, and to live.

Winter is my wilderness. An unfamiliar season which could keep me inside, if I let it.

Perhaps growing older is also my wilderness, with more than half a century behind me, and who knows how much ahead? This unknown landscape could keep me from living, if I let it.

Huh. A familiar place in an unfamiliar season made this a journey I didn’t quite expect.

Or want to end.

Keep Looking

(Matthew 9:20-22)

We don't know her name, or much of anything about her. 

I can only guess who this woman was. 

What she looked like. The sound of her voice. The dirt on her feet. 

Who she held in her arms. What made her laugh. What made her cry. 

We know she had been sick for a very long time. We know nobody could help her. 

I imagine she was desperate. Perhaps even hopeless.

If I could talk to her today, what would I want to ask her? 

More importantly, what would she want to tell me?

How long did you pray before you received your miracle?

She smiles. Closes her eyes. She sits quietly, remembering a time, long ago. 

Her brow furrows as she remembers how sick she had become. How much she bled. 

How weak she felt. How no one could help her. How she was considered unclean.

“I have prayed ever since I was a little girl. I prayed for a miracle when I got sick. I was sick for a very long time.”

What did you expect would happen, that day in the crowd, when you reached for Jesus' robe?

She smiles again. Eyes closed.

Remembering the crowd of people. Remembering all the talk of miracles. 

Unsure of who this Jesus was. Where he fit into her faith. 

How much was true. How much was story.

“I had no idea. I just needed to touch his robe. That’s all I knew. I couldn’t talk to him, the crowd was too big. I was a woman. My bleeding made me unclean.”

Were you afraid when Jesus stopped?

Her eyes light up. 

“No! I felt strength and hope enter me." She gestures with her hands as she explains, her story too big for words alone. "There was no room for fear. Amazement? Yes. Excitement? Yes. Gratitude? Oh yes. But no, not fear.”

What happened afterwards? How did this change your life?

She is silent for a long time. Then she speaks softly, with a gentle conviction.

“It made me strong. It made me certain.”

What would have happened if you had not been healed?

“My story would have had a different ending. But God would still be part of it."

What would you like to tell me? What would you like me to learn?

“To keep looking for the miracles." 

Her gaze shifts somewhere distant.

"And to remember that sometimes the miracle is not what we expect or what we hoped for."

She reaches for my hand.

"Perhaps with time you will understand. Until then, keep your heart open. And keep looking.”

(This conversation came to me after focusing group, during the reflection and processing time. It was a time when I was wondering, why do some people get miracles and others get silence? A time when I was thinking that if you don't hope for miracles then you won't be disappointed. Wondering if miracles depended on the depth of our faith. I still have questions, but thinking about this woman and this familiar biblical story somehow helped.)