Winter
“Life is short, but it’s the longest thing you will do.”
Brother Lawrence once said, he “saw all of us as trees in winter, with little to give, stripped of leaves and color and growth, whom God loves unconditionally anyway.”
While I love the writings of Brother Lawrence, in fact I have been deeply motivated by his thoughts on love, devotion and prayer, I have to disagree with his statement “we are like trees in winter, with little to give.”
We are often blind to the enduring strength and raw beauty of a naked tree bowing but not breaking to violent winter winds and pounding rains which threaten to uproot and relentlessly assault its weathered, blemished skin.
We spend our lives doing everything we can to stay in a perpetual state of spring. We cover our naked bodies with expensive fashions made in factories full of children. We conceal our skin with liquids and gels, hiding the very lines of life. Lines of laughter. Lines of sadness. Lines which tell details of euphoric pleasures, emphatic victories and devastating defeats.
Yet, like a barren winter tree, our beauty comes not from covering up, but by revealing our true selves. Every leaf that has fallen, every branch that has bowed, tells a story of miraculous springs, lazy summers, heartbreaking autumns and death defying winters.
In my thoughts about winter, I see a tall, hunched over slender man, reading, in his late eighties with thinning blonde, white hair. His sun stained skin is tired, easily bruised, like an overripe banana. His plaid button-up shirt is tucked into his much too high pulled up khakis, revealing white socks, matching his white sneakers where laces have been replaced by velcro.
He is in the winter of his life. He has lost his boyhood handsomeness and his youthful strength, yet you cannot take your eyes off him. He is fragile yet full of character and a different kind of strength. He can no longer pretend to be young. He can no longer be in disguise. It eventually happens to us all.
He is alone. I wonder what he did for a living. How many jobs? What were the best times of his life? What were the tragedies? What were his greatest secrets, pleasures, regrets? I wonder what war he fought in and how many dates he got by wearing his uniform?
As he reads, squinting, his sparkling blue eyes are bobbing and weaving, like a prize fighter, trying to find the magical clear spot in his bifocals. His fragile, trembling hands turn yet another page. Much like his life, he is getting to the end of his book.
He stands naked, unprotected by the brutal winter he will eventually succumb to. He is now invisible to our blind culture.
In all his glory! No disguises. Winter has stripped him of all external, temporary facades, yet winter cannot strip him of his story. His wisdom. His journey. His endurance.
I need to talk to him. I need to learn from him. I need to listen to him. I need to ask him a million questions.
I beg to differ respectfully with Brother Lawrence. When winter comes, we have so much to offer, rather than nothing to offer. Why? Because winter is where we finally discover our true beauty(scars and all). Our real worth(successes and failures). Our proper priorities(friends and family). Our earned wisdom(trials and struggles).
“Age should speak; advanced years should teach wisdom.” Job 32:7