Still, Still, Still
Early this morning, I went for a walk. These cold wintry days I usually wait until the afternoon to don scarf and walking boots, but by then I’m exhausted and need a nap. My disappointed dog, Carey, sleeps on the floor during naps, sighing, waiting for me to wake up. When I finally drag myself out, the walk is more obligation than joy.
This morning the temperature is in the teens, but without wind, the world outside my door looks crystal clear, gentle and still. Carey whines excitedly as I pull on my boots. Getting outside to salute the sun seems a fitting way to celebrate the winter solstice. I head for the neighboring retirement village to walk the path around the pond. As I circle the parking lot looking for a space, I’m awed by the beauty of early morning mist rising from still pond waters and the pale blue sky above.
Parked, and with Carey leashed, I walk heavily in snow pants, boots, llama hair jacket. Carey prances easily beside me totally unencumbered by her winter coat. It is a different world here, all white, pure and crystalline. My soul rests and my breath deepens. Each moment flows into another. I flow along. Eternity seems touchable. There are no edges, no constraints, no holiday rushing, no candles or carols, no stressful crowds, no piles of cookies to resist or bake, no shoulds. There is only stillness in white and blue, white snow, white rays of sun, white swans floating on a mirror still pond, water reflecting the blue sky. Every tree branch, twig, fence line and dried weed is kissed with white frost. Clear crystals cling to each shape with indescribably beauty, like hope clinging to a dreary soul.
The scene reminds me of the song: “Still, Still, Still” sung by the Ephrata Cloister Choir on their Christmas at the Cloister CD. The choir sings in German; I have to look up what the words mean.
Still, Still, Still while Jesus sleeps, be still.
His mother o’er him bends, adoring,
All her love in song outpouring.
Still, still, still, while Jesus sleeps, be still.
I’ve played this song over and over this season. It comforts me. I feel needy, my body is extra tired and I miss mom. She is so close, just on the other side of the pond living in an Altzheimer’s unit, yet the disease has taken her far away. Mom would love this German song. She no longer responds to music, but in her day, music was love. In our Swiss German culture there isn't much hugging, or expressions of affection, but we sing. Ah, how we sing! In this silent morning, I think of Mary singing to Jesus. I think of my mother, Mary, and how often she sang to her babies. “All her love in song outpouring” … a truth fitting both Mary’s.
When I get home, I’ll listen to the song again. And, I'll allow the acapella harmonies to pour over me like the love of a thousand singing mothers.
Joyfully,
Sharon
Merry Christmas!
