I was recently reminded that just as we have seasons of the year, we also have seasons of our soul. It's been a long winter here in Minnesota, mostly because it started late and we thought we were going to somehow miraculously get out of it this year. For me it's been long because it's the season my soul finds itself in...and I really don't like winter. The Christmas Carol "In the Bleak Midwinter" is still playing in my head and no matter how much I tell it to stop it won't listen.

In many ways, death has become my thing. It's not the thing I've chosen, rather the thing that has chosen me. There is some resistance to this, I suppose. Winter is the season where all of life gives way to death. Everything green is gone and replaced by the gray cold days now covered in white. There is a stark contrast of landscape outlining the space no longer filled with life. All one can do is sit and look out into it and for those who choose, maybe even go out in it, even if for a biting few minutes. (Don't get me wrong, some people even thrive in this scenery - I don't!)

The last few months I have settled into several chairs at home looking into the bare bones of my life. Gone are the titles - Director of..., the Rev...., Chaplain.... gone. All that I have spent my adult life building seems to have vanished now and I am left with the deep penetrating question of who am I at my core. In order to most enjoy this landscape, it is best to clear away the dead foliage, and so I have gone rummaging in literal corners of my basement and also the many planes of my psyche and heart.

Who and what get to stay, who and what need to go? Oh I don't like this. I have spent hours processing old resentments and doing the work of forgiving, getting angry, forgiving again, coming to an understanding or not, and letting go. It all has to go or have a place to go if spring is ever to come again in my heart. Some might say I'm depressed, and to an extent I have been; but perhaps moreso I'm simply taking the time to sit with my grief and my pain, which is what I set out to do a year and a half ago. At least I'm not stubborn.

No, it's not a season I like at all. But if Minnesota's tundra has taught me one thing, it is that without a doubt there is always resurrection, there is always new growth and life. I wouldn't go so far as to say the winters are worth it, but I do know what's on the other side. So with a cautious tone of hope I write to you this February night with offerings from my heart, wondering what season your soul is living through and how soon summer will arrive.