It’s Saturday night as I write this and I keep hearing an inner voice say, “Tomorrow, snow. Big Snow. Big Snow. Big Snow.”
It only happens a couple of times a year here and it’s magical. The kid in you can hardly sleep the night before. And the big waxing moon doesn’t help either. A full moon AND a big snow. Wowzers!
You can feel it coming somewhere deep in your bones. It’s the big unknown of it that gets you. It could be really scary or it could be wondrous and fun. It could almost bury you or make a sharp turn a couple miles down the road and almost miss you altogether
Whatever it brings, you’re as ready as you can be. Bring it on.
But in the meantime, a part of you that resides in a larger dimension retreats in prayer and contemplation. No matter how it affects you personally, storms this big always bring tragedies and suffering. You wrap the world in compassion and ask only to serve.
I used to think that serving others in times of great challenge meant you should get out there with your chain saw or bullhorn or something. My own contributions seemed so insubstantial compared with what the heroes do. But then I figured out that I am who I am and the best I can do is the best I can do. And that is all I’m responsible for.
I heard a man put it into words that sum up what I’m trying to say: He was explaining to someone why he’s comfortable with his view of things and the way he interacts with the world. ”I trust in the nature of my path,” he said, “and I trust that I’m being guided to go where I need to go.” That seemed such a sane and mature thing to say.
When I walk through the woods or fields here, or along the creek, I am often struck by the amazing variety that surrounds me. And how everything has its place and plays its part. And somehow it all works together like some perfectly choreographed dance. Why would our own paths through life be any different?
So, a Big Snow is coming. And I can hardly wait for the adventure.
In the meantime, you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to savor the ambience of the room, its soft colors and gentle light, its warmth and mildly fragrant air. It’s peaceful. I am grateful. I am blessed.
May you be blessed, too, and at peace with the nature of your path. May the storms pass swiftly and leave you unharmed.
Warmly,
Susan