Thoughts From the Frozen North

It’s ridiculously cold here in Saskatchewan—minus 40 this morning. It doesn’t matter if you measure your temperature in Celsius or Fahrenheit, -40 is -40, and it’s cold. Darn cold. Gerry and Molly and I are sitting in the living room undercover of blankets watching the 4 Nations Face-Off Canada vs Finland hockey game. It’s the end of the first period and the score is in our favour.

I need to get a few things from the grocery store. We had planned to stop on the way home from church yesterday, but I was easily persuaded to put it off in favour of going home to a warm home, lunch, and a chess game.

I thought I might go today, but am choosing to stay home instead. It’s the Family Day holiday here in Saskatchewan, which means the shops might be somewhat busier than a normal weekday, but one of the gifts of small-city living is that even a busy day isn’t all that busy.

Nonetheless, I’m staying home where it’s warm. I tended to some Story Circle Network things in my office this morning and am taking the rest of the day off. A blanket and a book and a mug of hot chocolate sound just about right to me.

I intended to pop in here yesterday and tell you about a few minutes before church when, for a few timeless moments I stood in the kitchen munching handfuls of leftover popcorn and looked out the window at ice crystals dancing in the air like fairy dust. It was -31 outside. The sun was shining. Gerry was already bundling up and getting ready to head out but I was lost in the moment, mesmerized by the magic of science and the mysterious hand of the divine that got my attention and said, “Look! This is for you at this moment.”

I meant to tell you about it, but the afternoon got away from me. I’m not sure how. So, I’m telling you now, and hoping you can see the wonder of those few minutes in your mind’s eye and that your imagination will will be sparked and you’ll feel a flicker of joy and something of the sweet mystery of this life.

“Will you engage this moment with kindness or with cruelty, with love or with fear; with generosity or scarcity, with a joyous heart or an embittered one? This is your choice and no one can make it for you.”

– Rabbi Rami Shapiro

In the wee hours of yesterday morning, these words came to me in an email. I sat with them and held them up as a filter to the way I’ve walked through my days in recent weeks. In light of the instability I sense in the world at large, I’ve been working at not allowing bitterness to take root. I have a clear picture of who and how I want to be in this world and Rabbi Shapiro’s words reminded me of my intention.

That rumination, wise words from other sources, and the minutes of centering prayer with which I begin every day, set the stage for me to be present enough to pause and, with a sense of wonder and joy, watch the sparkle of ice crystals in the air on a frigid Sunday morning. It’s wasn’t magic, but it was. Magical. Mystical. And all of the above. At least, it was that way for me.

I couldn’t see ice crystals in the air as we drove toward the hundred-year-old church where we gather on Sundays. The sun was still shining, the ice was still in the air, but I was looking from a different perspective. There was a lesson there for me.

I choose the perspective of kindness. Joy. Generosity. And, because God’s only begotten doubled down and made it clearer than clear that it’s the single most important thing—love. I choose these things knowing that I slip all to easily in the other direction. So, I keep choosing and, as St. Benedict reminds me, beginning again as needed.

I choose to guard my heart and protect my peace because if I don’t I will become bitter and cynical and cruel and afraid and it already takes little provocation for me to fall back into these things that do not reflect who and how I want to be in the world. “This is your choice,” the rabbi reminds me. Choose wisely, I tell myself.