Church happened at St. Stephen's today because the rector can walk from his house. He told me not to come, though, and I was fine with that. I'm from south of Atlanta. I am a southerner. I do not know how to drive in the snow. Three years in Chicago didn't teach me because the roads are plowed there, so I still didn't learn how. When they tell me to stay off the roads, I obey. I don't want to be a hazard. So many people online reported reading Morning Prayer in place of going to church this morning, so I joined in. Sitting snug in my house with the welcome sunlight streaming in. I prayed through the office, read a bit of Diana Butler Bass'
Grounded, and then headed out for outdoor worship in the Creation.
It was almost too bright to see, but I didn't want to head back in for sunglasses. I walked around my house and then headed out into the neighborhood. There is a pond in the back of the Mews, and I wanted to see if it was frozen. Half way. I was making new tracks on the path that goes around the pond - though I felt a little guilty at disturbing the smooth blanket of white. I was surprised at how few people were out and how few birds I saw. It looked like someone had been out walking a dog on parts of the path, but other than that, I was the pioneer. The surface of the snow glittered in the sun, and ice cracked under my feet as I went. Sometimes I was light enough not to break through the layer of ice, but in other places I crashed through, and my boots sunk inches deeper into slush. Snow, sleet, freezing rain, rain, sleet, snow. That's what had happened in the past 48 hours, and I could feel each of the layers as I walked.
When I got to the front of my neighborhood, I decided to head for the labyrinth. Again I was surprised that no one had been out on the sidewalk I take to Eastern State Hospital. With the sun reflecting off the snow and the wind at my back, it wasn't long before I pulled my hood down, unzipped my coat, and removed my gloves. Though it was only 27 degrees, I was hot! The road was reasonably clear, though slushy at intersections. On the hospital grounds the road was wet with no slush at all. Someone had plowed well.
The labyrinth looked very different than it had when I was there at the beginning of the storm. I could barely see the path at all. Animal tracks cris-crossed diagonally over sections of the labyrinth. I thought maybe they were from deer, but closer inspection looked more like paw than hoof tracks. Dog? Raccoon? Fox? I have no idea. Whoever it was didn't feel a need to stay on the path but scampered across to the other side. I wasn't sure if I wanted to step out onto the smooth surface, but once I was there, I couldn't resist.
With the first step I heard the ice under my feet. I was surprised that my boots didn't sink any further into the snow but there seemed to be a thick layer of ice that cracked with almost every step on my way to the center. Felt kind of like walking across a frozen lake, only fortunately I didn't fall in. After the first turn, I froze. I couldn't see the path, and I didn't know where to go. I took a guess, but I found myself stopping regularly on the way. When I looked at the labyrinth facing north, I could just distinguish the path, but when I looked into the sun, I couldn't see any markings in the snow. If I hadn't walked that labyrinth so many times, I wouldn't have stood a chance. I guess that's why they call it a spiritual
practice. By doing it over and over, we learn the way.
Still, there were many times when I had to stop and observe for awhile. At one point I felt like I could hear Obi Wan saying, "Use the force, Luke!" It was very different to be forging a new path and having trouble finding the way when usually a labyrinth is so clear. It would have been very easy to get lost. At one point the snow was so smooth that I went a little too far and walked up on top of one of the bricks, but I realized my mistake and turned back to the path. When I got to the center I breathed a sigh of relief. I had made it all the way in without having to backtrack. I turned slowly in the center, feeling a pull to the west. "I am going to the west..." The haunting notes of one of the songs from my
Faire Celts CD ran through my head. It was hard to look south because the sun was so bright. When I turned east, I said a prayer of blessing over the Eastern State buildings, as I often do.
Heading back out, I walked in my own footsteps. Much easier to find the way. No cracking of the ice this direction, though. Instead, stepping in my boot tracks, I went much deeper into the snow, often down into wet slushiness. I guess the sun was melting the places where I had walked. It was a much faster trip out since I no longer had to pause at each turn and discern the way forward. I smiled at the end. I did it! If anyone else wants to walk it in the snow, they will know the way now. These footsteps will not disappear as quickly as the last, though in time the snow will melt and the concrete and paving bricks will emerge once more.
Friday's walk was about letting go. Today's walk was about new beginnings. Forging a path. Finding a way. We don't always know which direction to turn, but we wait and watch and listen, asking God to point us forward. Sometimes we just stand for a bit, being faithful, until the way gets clear or until we take that step and see - is this the way? We may need to double back or retrace steps, but we will eventually find the way. It can be slow going, and it's hard not to panic when you cannot see the way, even harder to step out in faith when you're not certain, but each step leads you closer to the center until you find yourself resting in the presence of God.
It was almost too bright to see, but I didn't want to head back in for sunglasses. I walked around my house and then headed out into the neighborhood. There is a pond in the back of the Mews, and I wanted to see if it was frozen. Half way. I was making new tracks on the path that goes around the pond - though I felt a little guilty at disturbing the smooth blanket of white. I was surprised at how few people were out and how few birds I saw. It looked like someone had been out walking a dog on parts of the path, but other than that, I was the pioneer. The surface of the snow glittered in the sun, and ice cracked under my feet as I went. Sometimes I was light enough not to break through the layer of ice, but in other places I crashed through, and my boots sunk inches deeper into slush. Snow, sleet, freezing rain, rain, sleet, snow. That's what had happened in the past 48 hours, and I could feel each of the layers as I walked.
The labyrinth looked very different than it had when I was there at the beginning of the storm. I could barely see the path at all. Animal tracks cris-crossed diagonally over sections of the labyrinth. I thought maybe they were from deer, but closer inspection looked more like paw than hoof tracks. Dog? Raccoon? Fox? I have no idea. Whoever it was didn't feel a need to stay on the path but scampered across to the other side. I wasn't sure if I wanted to step out onto the smooth surface, but once I was there, I couldn't resist. 
Heading back out, I walked in my own footsteps. Much easier to find the way. No cracking of the ice this direction, though. Instead, stepping in my boot tracks, I went much deeper into the snow, often down into wet slushiness. I guess the sun was melting the places where I had walked. It was a much faster trip out since I no longer had to pause at each turn and discern the way forward. I smiled at the end. I did it! If anyone else wants to walk it in the snow, they will know the way now. These footsteps will not disappear as quickly as the last, though in time the snow will melt and the concrete and paving bricks will emerge once more.
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