Fireflies in Winter

 




Another winter storm swept through the midwest yesterday. Photos show huddled pedestrians struggling against the wind and blowing snow as street lights swing in the intersections. A 40-car pile up on Iowa's Interstate 94, with news about injuries still unavailable, stirred deep concerns for my sister who lives in Ames. 

Yet, winter is just another "outside reality," a term I use to define the world around me, but not the world within me. This doesn't mean that I'm not fully aware of its potential to cause havoc with a winter storm, loss of power, bitter cold, concerns for the elderly and sick who would be endangered by such a storm. It means that, always, regardless of any situation, my power comes from within, that Kingdom of God within, and the climate there is not determined by the storms that sweep around me.

The inner world, the world of the heart, the world in which I choose to live, and many days, that choice is hard won, is a virtual summer. It is a place of God-shine, playfulness, communing with life in every sense of the word. It is sunshine reflecting on the lake, like miniature fairies - as my youngest daughter liked to describe the sparkling water on Lake Erie in the summertime as the bright sun danced gleefully on its gentle rippling near the shore.

My inner world marvels and delights in fireflies, illusive to my young son's eager pursuit, as we sat outside in the evening, together, gathered even long after a radiant Western New York sunset.

And yet, summer is a rich metaphor for a life lived with the Holy Spirit at the helm of your life. Perhaps, C.S. Lewis really had the imagery right with the Chronicles of Narnia. Summer arrives after the great thawing of our hearts, bringing with it a kind of freedom rejoicing within us. We become children again. Our worries seem to slip onto a back burner or off the stove completely, as we focus on the life bursting forth all around us - the laughter of the children splashing in the puddle-size pool in the yard, attempting to rescue the little bunny that my overfed cat is toying with, feeling that excitement when the tomatoes are actually coming out on the vine. And the flowers! Can words even begin to describe the sheer joy when suddenly it's mid-May and the apple blossoms have swarmed every tree in sight. The world is blooming so loudly. Mother Nature is singing her most beautiful song. Couples stroll along the beach in the evening, hand in hand - young couples, old couples, even human and dog couples.

In the dead of winter, then, my mother would comfort her six cabin-fevered children who had exhausted every snow plow mountain on the street by reminding them of summer.

"Remember how hot it was last summer, you wished it was winter?" she'd say. "Think about the beach, swimming and playing in the sand. Think about those beautiful hot days."

And, we would, and eventually winter snarled his last snort and went to bed as summer danced, freckle-faced out into the brightness of day, calling all her children out to play.

As I write this, this morning, I am so powerfully reminded of a scripture that calls us to remember that which is most beautiful, both to sustain us through these bleak winter days, but to further launch our spirits higher vibrationally, from where the real power of living stems.

St. Paul reminds the fledgling church in Philippians to lift up their hearts by first lifting up their thoughts, when he writes:

"Rejoice! and again, I say, Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything ... whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things..." (Phillipians 4:4-8)

As you brace yourself against the winter winds, the long dark days, and the equally endless onslaught of oppressive news - from Haiti, the mideast, the country's epic center in Washington - remember the precious firefly of summer, light your lamps and hold that thought.