Rain Boots Caked in Mud

this isn't an answer to all the problems, but it might help us maintain the strength we need to solve them

The snow that fell four weeks ago is still lingering in the shady nooks and corners of our property. The yard looks like the coat of a pinto horse, patched brown and white. The sun has slipped from the entrapment of the iron cloud sky and returned like a lover from a long journey. She kisses our skin every time we walk outside. The ground is spongy. I feel the earth squelch underneath my rain boots when I’m walking my dog outside. Overhead, the trees cut jagged stencils out of the azure sky. I’ve found myself exhaling; glad to be alive.

Normally, coming to the end of January and facing down February would have me withered to nothing. Winter usually wrings me out so completely that I can’t even remember the concept of spring. But not this year. When I walk outside I remember all the places I planted crocuses, tulips and hyacinths. I’m drinking in the sunrises when the light walks down out of the east and plays with the fog in the valley. I’m grateful for this, for all of this

And things are still hard. 

Expressing gratitude in the midst of hard circumstances doesn’t downplay how difficult they are; it gives you the ability to defy despondency as you walk through them. And so I drink (and enjoy) a homemade brown sugar oat milk latte when my husband makes me one. This is defiance. And I read a new fiction book every night before bed and escape to another world for a brief while.¹ This is defiance. And I walk outside in the sharp winter air and feel alive, alive, alive. This is defiance. 

There’s a lot happening in the world—and more intimately—in my own country that feels like it’s trying to rip my peace out by the roots. I feel the combination of anxiety and anger pulling my brain in seven different directions at once. Where is the balance between staying informed and staying sane?²

“But I feel very small, and very uprooted, and well - desperate. The Enemy is so strong and terrible.” 

— Frodo, The Fellowship of the Rings, Chapter: The Shadow of the Past, J.R.R. Tolkien

I cannot care equally about everything. But I can care deeply about a few things. I care deeply about making sure people (all people) are treated primarily through the lens of bearing the image of God. I care deeply that the resurgence of the hyper-conservative Christian cult I broke away from gets the heck out of my country’s politics.³ I care deeply about the work of seeking out the redemptive arc God has woven into the world and being the hands and feet of helping it come to pass. 

Part of me doesn’t even want to address these things because who am I to speak up? Just one woman living in a little crooked doublewide on the lip of a valley in Wendell Berry country. My writing here doesn’t reach thousands or move masses. My writing here brings in a few pennies that I put in a savings account and still, I keep showing up. It’s not only about the reach and the revenue. It’s about using what tools I have to tap on the hearts willing to listen, to the hearts willing to slow down enough to pay attention. 

And what are we paying attention to? Ah, that's the question. I can’t tell you what or who to spend your time listening to, but I will say this: look for the ones who are the least of these. Look for the ones who don’t have a “word” about every headline and hot topic that’s flying around. Look for the ones who slow down and invite you to do the same. Look for the ones who don’t think/live/look/vote like you and be willing to sit with the difference until those same people aren’t a talking point but a fellow image-bearer. 

Meanwhile, I’m (still) recovering from whatever upper respiratory virus has laid siege to my body and putting out writing here because, well, I need to. Maybe you need to read it. I don’t know. But my words will continue to be an offering whether anyone takes me up on it or not. 

Today is the last day of a long, long January. You probably didn’t think you’d get through it, but you did. I’m writing these words to you from the thick of winter and you’re reading them from the thick of whatever life is throwing at you. This is a small miracle if you stop and think about it (but really, are any miracles small?). 

Spring is 31 days closer than it was before. The sun is setting 2-3 minutes longer every evening. The darkest part of the northern hemisphere is long gone. We’re being moved forward by the current of a world that keeps turning. And it's ok to feel like your head is spinning from that—especially after a January like this one. Maybe put the phone down for a bit. Maybe take a walk and let your brain move less at the pace of the internet and more at the pace of your own two feet. These aren’t answers to problems, but they might help us maintain the strength we need to solve them. 

When the big winter storm happened at the beginning of this month our corner of the world was buried under nine inches of snow and ice. It was beautiful and brutal. The temperatures went below zero multiple nights in a row. The roads shut down. Everything was white, grey and noticeably quiet. As far as I could see in any direction, it appeared as though winter had gotten the last word. 

But just today I walked through our newly-thawed yard, rain boots caked in mud, and felt the soft wind in my hair and the sun gently tilting my chin upwards. It felt like relief; like a new shoot of victory was taking root in my soul. And wonder of wonders, the quiet was broken by the birds who had returned to sow their notes in the soil of the sky.

Winter may get the last word but, hope gets the last song. 

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1. Currently reading my first Brandon Sanderson book: The Way of Kings. I’ll let you know what I think once I finish. It’s a hefty one!

2. Did you know PBS hosts a nightly news hour every evening for free? I just learned about it this week. A great resource to stay informed without the mental exhaustion of never ending social media clips.

3. I wrote a four-part series detailing what it was like to live under the teachings of Bill Gothard’s cult and what it’s looked like to heal from that. You can read the first post by clicking here.