The Beauty of All Things

I used to hate January. Really, truly, heartily despise it. It was an insult to Christmas; a dour, grumpy matron which, at the height of my sensibilities, seemed to frown upon the bright, ever-young beauty of the season just past. Tired and heartsore, I would fall upon my house with a vengeance the day after New Year’s, robbing it in an afternoon of the beauty it had borne for a month. And then, in a grim resolve to distract myself, I would plunge headlong into a frenetic series of projects and improvement schemes which left me more exhausted than all the giddy whirl of Christmas had ever done.

I am deeply grateful that God in His mercy showed me how stupid that was. Several years back I was challenged by a second-hand idea that a friend of mine picked up in a Bible study, the effect of which was that the speaker just gave herself a break in January. “After all the crazy joy of Christmas, I need to recover,” she said, with the utmost candor. “January is my quiet month.”

Such an astoundingly simple idea it seems almost naïve to utter it. As if all of God’s creation does not proclaim it in every facet of the ‘bleak midwinter’, from frozen water to hibernating animals to sleeping gardens. “January teaches us that all seasons are not intended to be especially fruitful;” I wrote in another place, “its serene sleeping austerity is a necessary element of the blossoming spring and abundant harvest that follow.” And once this foundational idea had begun to settle into my heart, it gave me a whole new—and may I say, lovely—perspective on January. It wasn’t a dullness to be endured but a gift from the Father of Lights who always gives what is good and perfect.

The truth is, I need a rest after Christmas, as much as I love it. I, too, need to recover; to heal, if you will, from the whole year that has gone before. For even joy comes with a price, and in my case, the payment is usually made out of personal reserves of energy that have to be replenished or they will dry up altogether. I need to get in the black again, spiritually, emotionally, physically. I need to restore balance in many areas. I need to lie fallow for a while and listen in the quiet for the voice of God. And if I don’t hear it, then I need to accept His gift of the quiet itself and be still.

I’m still sad when Christmas is over (though I’m glad now for a broader view of the liturgical year that lets me celebrate into January! ;)). I still cry when we take down the tree and mully-grub over the mess of withered greens and the holly berries lurking under every piece of furniture in the house. I still think that my rooms look barren and empty when all their pretty Christmas finery is gone. But in order to see the beauty of the seasons, to really live and not merely experience them, I am coming to understand that we must acknowledge the beauty in all of them. Even January.

There is beauty in this place; in this barrenness, this unwritten page. There is beauty within the gentle limitation of a schedule. In the primeval glitter of a frosty morning that wakens one without gainsaying when there are barn chores to be done. In evenings that drawn down early—and us with them, grateful for a reason to rest by the fire with a book or to linger over a candlelit dinner. I’m trying to be very intentional about seeing it this year, embracing the starkness and believing in the spring it’s all part of.

There are books to be read (and reviewed here! ;)), needlepoint to be made friends with again, apples and winter hay to be fed to woolly babes, kitties to nap with (I don’t even want to admit how long it’s been since that’s happened around here–August, probably!), gardens to plan and letters to write. I have so many dreams for the coming year, ideas I can’t wait to put into action and projects and plans that will fill my days with joyful industry…

But not yet–if the Lord is saying anything to me right now, it’s that. Not yet. They shall not be ashamed that wait for Me…

I just love January. 🙂