I have a confession to make. I know we all like to complain about it…but I kind of like the darkness of the PNW in this time of year. I’ve learned to embrace it. I especially like walking in it. There is something about the darkness that brings me closer to a much-needed place of being for me…the ground. The ground and its smells and sounds. I love the smell of my foot lightly crunching an autumn leave. The sound of a deer prancing across the road. And, if I’m lucky, the sound of barn owl’s lonely call to her or his mate. I love to listen for my dog’s long shaggy tail wagging back and forth as she smells a mouse in a fern nearby. There is something special about walking through the woods on a winter’s evening. Just ask Robert Frost who wrote these words:
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
I, too, have miles to go before I sleep, but as I grow a bit older, I have found it harder and harder to stay grounded. I often feel as if I’ve been beamed up to this place from another planet, and some of my particles are still floating out in space! Walking in the darkness helps me arrive, fully present.
When I look back at my life, I think I started this practice of walking in the dark way back in 9th grade! We lived about a mile from our school, and I always walked home. In High School I was involved in sports, and so I would often head home around 5 or 5:30, my books in one hand and my French horn in the other. After football practice, that was no big deal. It was still light then. But when basketball season started and Daylights Savings Time kicked in, by 5 or 5:30 it was already dark out. I don’t remember if I even noticed that I liked these moments until my dad offered to pick me up and I paused and said, “No. No bother Dad. I actually kind of like it. Gives me some time to think.”
And that it does. But it also gave me time to dream.
When I went to college, I would often take long walks around our campus in the winter. I especially loved a newly fallen snow back then. I’d make patterns with my footsteps and dream of playing my French horn in a symphony or singing in the Dale Warland Singers.
One night as I walked, I found myself remembering something that had completely left me. I was mad at my dad for some reason. And as I walked tears of anger flowed. I felt so far away from him and couldn’t understand the distance. I blamed him for it. But as I walked this memory came:
I was 6 or 7. It was Christmas Eve. Dad was about to walk our cow, Carmel, from her pasture to the church where Dad would tie her up next to a couple hay bails and the manger where Jesus lay. Usually Dad made this journey alone, but that
night he must have saw the want in eyes and he invited me to come along. I quickly grabbed my coat and ran out the door to catch him. And as we walked Carmel along the road I took in the sounds and smells of that walk. Dad slowly chanting, “Come, Boss, Come” and the smell of the oats in the pail that led her. But then a surprise! My ears started to get cold, but I was afraid to tell Dad. I
didn’t want to ruin the moment with a scolding. But suddenly a surprise. Dad, taking off his cap, and gently placing it on my head. All the time smiling. And then surprise of all surprises. Dad offering me to hold Carmel’s rope and then, for me, Christmas…Dad’s hand sliding into mine. I will never forget the sound and smell of that night!
That night, at 11 pm, I called Dad, collect. And we talked, I mean really talked.
My dad isn't with me now, but on those walks I feel as if "the voice" who spoke through him is.
I won’t pretend to tell you how God’s grace will come to you this Advent/Christmas season. But I will say it will come. And when it does your heart, like mine is now, will be strangely warmed as if you were sitting by a fire with a loved one…suddenly not alone anymore.
Your friend and pastor, praying for you as you walk in the darness of Advent hoping for God's light to come, Brook