resilience

On Honoring the Season You’re In

The first weeks of spring brought sickness to our family, reminding us of our vulnerability and resilience – caring for each other as best we could and leaning into gentle days, even as my inner voice said: You need to be doing this and that, we’re missing out, we’re getting behind and getting left behind!

When everything outside is expanding and bursting and blooming, here we were contracting and resting and recovering. It’s rare for my 11-year-old not to have endless energy and want to be out of doors. Being constantly curious and into all the things. But this illness really slowed him down.

So we sought out gentle activities that took me back to young motherhood when we explored the world through the eyes of a toddler. Taking us back to a not-so-distant era when finding four leaf clovers was enough.

Even though we were well beyond St. Patrick’s Day and on the other side of Easter, looking for four leaf clovers was good medicine. We wandered outside in search of thick green patches—in the yard and along the sides of the trails. Finding these rarities asked us to slow down, stoop down, and embrace slow time. It invited us to smell the newly green earth, taking note of rebirth on the smallest of levels.

Our quest was—quote, unquote—unsuccessful. That day we did not come away with the treasured four-leafer, but what we found was an unexpected gift. We spotted an unusual three leaf clover with heart-shaped leaves, either formed naturally that way or perfectly nibbled into hearts by a critter.

On the return home while cherishing the simple moment together, I whispered to my son, “I’d much rather have love than luck.” He wholeheartedly agreed.

Over the next few days, this slow rhythm became our healer.

Spring’s fullness — full blooms, full symphony, full nests — did not mirror our personal season of convalescence, at least for a time. For now, we’ll honor the contrast that will inevitably give way to busier spring days of school lessons, soccer games, chores, gardening, and travels.

Whatever season we may find ourselves in, may we be reminded of love’s gifts, that gentle days are sometimes needed, and that smelling a patch of fresh clover is good medicine.

On Bareness, Beauty & Resilience

I live in North Carolina where winters are chilly but rarely white. They are gentler than in more northerly parts of the world. Yet still, I find myself turning inward, seeking cozy, and nourishing my body with healthful and fat-filled foods— like the Eastern cottontail rabbits who shelter in dense thickets around our shed. Like the squirrels who curl their tails on their backs like blankets. And like the songbirds who feast in the backyard.

During an unusual cold snap this past week, I worried about the birds as night temperatures dipped into the 20s. To my relief, the next morning they sang their subtle winter songs and visited our feeders as usual. Still here.

Their resilience offered reassurance, and I was reminded of my own capacity to endure. Birds have adapted to survive the cold—storing more fat, fluffing out their downy feathers, sometimes huddling together in roost houses, and shivering to create warmth. Their tiny bodies are adept at thermal regulation.

Winter exposes our vulnerabilities.

Winter reveals beauty and resilience.

The cold bareness of winter seems to expose our vulnerabilities—my increasingly creaky joints. My too-cold toes. My dry, oft cracked skin. My need for deep rest. And my occasional resistance to sitting with silence and stillness.

The bareness of winter also reveals beauty. The simple forms of the natural world, the silhouettes of trees. The peace inherent in the stillness. The beauty in our need for warmth, community, and communion with animals.

How may we endure a season of deep winter?

By embracing its cold beauty, call to rest, and invitation to gather warmth wherever it may be found. We can lean into our own adaptations taking cues from the wildlife around us, don our coziest socks, and allow the clarity of wintry air to fill our bodies and spirits. And as Anna Brones encourages us, we can “stare up and remind ourselves that in between the dark silhouettes of bare winter branches, there is so much light that shines through.”

For Reflection
~ What does “weathering winter” mean for you?

~ What beauty is revealed in the bareness of the season—the silhouettes of deciduous trees, the sparse landscapes?

~ How can you embrace your vulnerabilities with compassion, while gathering support and comfort for them?

A Wellness Practice

Go outside for a walk in the natural world (or look out your window). Be open to wonder and see what captures your attention. You may want to take a photo or write a few words of gratitude for the beauty you encounter. Embrace the alchemy of movement, wintry fresh air, and the bare trees of this quiet season.

A Quote to Inspire Your Creative or Writing Practice

“All winter long the brown bud will sleep. While the cold crow calls into the gray sky, while the wet leaves blacken and begin their return to earth, the brown bud is waiting for its true self to unfold; a beginning that in sleep has already begun.”

~ Margaret Renkl, The Comfort of Crows

Tag: resilience

Love, Not Luck

Weathering Winter