Three Years: Winter is Coming.
It happened. The same spot that provides me hope in the early spring, showed signs of what is to come. It’s amazing what the earth will show you if you simply watch and listen.
One of the consistent healing moments post leaving Los Angeles four years ago has been the change in my commute. I went from living 3 miles from my church and a forty five minute commute one way, to living 8 miles from our church in Wayzata and a twelve minute commute around a beautiful lake.
The thing is, Water speaks to me. In Boston it was the North Shore of the Atlantic ocean. I would spend most Tuesdays (my day off) in York Maine, sitting at the Nubble Light Beach watching the waves crash against the rocky coast. I would pick a rock, sit for a few hours, write, listen, and read. Then I would go to my favorite Irish Pub (the Irish Rose), eat a late lunch by the fireplace and sip my favorite Irish Whiskey (Back then Redbreast 12 yr). This was my sabbath.
In Los Angeles it was the Pascific. I was rarely further than 15 miles from the ocean at any time, but my sabbath was found in Santa Barbara. I still remember the clinking sounds of sail riggings swaying in the light waves of the protected harbor. That sound can lull me to sleep in seconds. The smell of seasalt in the air; The cool mornings; The mile walk from the shoreline out to Auntie Laurie and Brooks boat (The Islander). Each step, smell, sound, created home. The walks on that beach with Laurie and Petey or the lessurly sipping of good tequila on the back porch with my Auntie and sister in spirit Laurie have taught me some of the most important things of life. Again Sabbath.
Here, it’s Lake Minnetonka that keeps my soul afloat. As much as I don’t love winter, watching the water change is a powerful seasonal reset. This week I saw the outer edge of the lake begin to crust with ice. This is the same spot that melts first in the spring. 146 miles of icy bordered shoreline now glisten in the light of my morning commute. From the shoreline the icy crust will devour its way to the center of the lake until it’s frozen two to three feet thick. The bleak mid-winter.
The winter is a reset… a cleansing...if it doesn’t devor you like the water, you come out on the other side different. Each year has done new things to me. My first year was grief. I never imagined I would leave the community that we built together. I never imagined living life without regular connection to people who had become family over the previous decade. I had forgotten from my time in Boston what long, cold, dark winters felt like. In truth, I missed and miss the City every day. I miss the diversity, the 4 languages spoken in our Lake Balboa neighborhood, the heat, the sun, mostly I miss the people. In the midst of grief we reimagine. In the midst of winter we imagine new things growing under the snow.
The second year was about family. We had the beautiful surprise of Hazel. This little spitfire has reoriented everything. This new foursome, [6 when we count our whole family of Brendan and Holly (and now seven with Emilyn)] is strong. Moves, like this one to Minnesota, connect and bind you in new ways. Its a daily reminder of what we are made of. Heather is our glue. She is strong, bold, and courageous. I’m often seen as the risk taker in the family (little Hazel may have taken that torch), yet truth be told Heather will walk through fire for her family. She is my sabbath.
Year three was an awakening. I spent a year thinking about my calling. A year reimagining what new things God was calling me into here at Wayzata. I’ve come to understand my gifts more clearly. I’ve learned new skills, and adapted old ones to fit new circumstances. The things that bring me passion, creating, innovating, systematic renovation, renewal, worship, change...some of these things have been put to the side for a time, some have been brought forward and developed. This year has brought clarity like the crisp winter air to my asthmatic lungs. That may sound harsh, its not. It’s one of my favorite things about breathing winter air. I appreciate breath and each moment of life with every inhalation.
Year Four… Who knows what is to come? One thing is for sure: winter is coming. It will be a time of new growth, now we just hold on to hope for spring.
