January

JANUARY

January is a time that may seem a bit drab and bleak after the festivities and dazzling lights of Christmas and New Years. I suppose there is a sort of let down that occurs when the tree and ornaments are put away, families return home, and life goes back to normal. And at times the heavy snow and gloomy skies can even be a bit dismal.   Talking with my mom the other day, however,  she was quick to remind me of the splendor and renewal that January offers us. The winter weather slows our pace and throws a sort of hush over our world that allows us on occasion to nestle indoors with loved ones and feel a sort of reverence for nature and a gratitude for new beginnings. 

    As the snow falls and the new year commences, January, my mother believes, is a time to slow down. A time to contemplate, to draw in, to renew ourselves.  It is a time of unhurriedness. A time to re-establish our lives, to re-instill order, to simplify.  And as we allow ourselves this time of tranquility and slowness, we will see that our lives, our actions, the season and January itself becomes more vivid. Special moments come alive, relationships deepen, and the joy we feel becomes more real and vibrant. 

As Sarah Ban Breathnach, author of Simple Abundance, says: "All living creatures need rest and renewal,  especially mothers. The comforting rhythm of slow winter days affords us this rest, and the new-fallen snow provides our family with the perfect opportunity to pause and take stock of our home life." 

Resolve, at least during January, to not be in a hurry. Cut out paper snowflakes with your kids and as you do, take time to really look at your children and really listen to their laughter.  Put down your cell phone, your ipad, and your computer. Turn off your TV. Take a hiatus from distractions that cause your world to seem so hectic and noisy. Slow your pace and let pancake breakfasts, playing in the snow, or story-time truly come alive. Act as if you have nothing else to do in the world except play with your kids or be with your husband or family.  Not only see the wonder in present moments but be present in the moment. Take mental snapshots of your life, of your children, of the memories you are making, and remember, in Breathnach's words, "Today is the tomorrow you wished for yesterday." So savor it! Don't be in such a rush. Stop to truly taste the sweetness of the season and of the moment you are in! 

"Outward circumstances, the stress of hectic modern living colliding with the priorities of work and home, may batter and weary us, but if there is peace and tranquility in the home, we too can find respite to weather the storms of life."  
Sarah Breathnach

I am excited to share with you what we have been up to this January but I thought I might first do something a little out of the ordinary and share with you a journal entry of mine from years ago.  It tells my memory of one particular snowy morning that I believe exemplifies the importance of slowing down long enough to allow moments with our children to become truly vivid and meaningful.   I am grateful for this particular experience when my dad took a break from his busy life to share a very special January morning with me. 

It was still so early when something woke me from my sleep. It was a soft, gentle nudging and when I opened my sleepy eyes, I  found my dad leaning over me. Lifting his finger to his lips to tell me to remain quiet, he motioned me to follow him. Curious, I slowly climbed out of my warm bed and let him lead me to our front living room. He pointed towards the window.  As I peered through the shutters, I saw that the outside the world was a glistening white- a wonderland of freshly fallen snow. The kind of hushed stillness that only the drifting snow on an early morning can bring  filled the room. We stood together, my daddy and I, both in our pajamas and watched for a minute the delicate flakes flutter down to a silent world below. It was beautiful.  He then explained that due to the several feet of snow, school had been canceled. I appreciated him wanting me to see the snow and let me hear the excellent news, but I wondered if that was all he had woken me for. 
    
Sure enough, a few moments later he beckoned me toward the fireplace where I noticed his worn leather-bound scriptures on the floor. He invited me to sit next to him beside the crackling glow of the fire and as I did he lovingly lifted his scriptures onto his lap. As he eagerly read aloud to me some verses, I could sense the fervor he felt for those words. My father’s love of the Gospel was always evident to us in fact. Though he served in several leadership capacities for our Church, his worship was humble and private and I suppose it was my privilege to witness so many of his quiet hours of devotion and study. More often than I can remember, I would pass his bedroom or office door and hear the faint sound of him praying. And I confess at times I would stop and peer through the crack of the door to catch a glimpse of him on his knees.   
    
That morning, my dad continued to read from the scriptures and as he did he was careful to expound on their meaning to me. Then, after a while, he paused to look me straight in the eyes. I don't think I will ever forget the look on his face. It was one of tenderness.  And it was then that he told me how much he loved me. Of course he had told me many times before but never with such deliberateness or intensity. Then, he proceeded to teach me about a loving Heavenly Father and explained that God, a perfect parent, loved me even more than he did. As I listened to his words, a warmth far greater than the fire beside me started to burn within my chest. 

As we finished, he kissed my cheek and then donned his winter coat, hat and gloves and headed outside to shovel the snow in our driveway.  It was still so early and the neighborhood slumbered softly, undisturbed, under the blanket of white. I could see from the window how my dad's breath made icy patterns in the frigid air as he shoveled the heavy snow.  And as he did so, I sat for a long while and watched him, letting the impact of his words to me, sink in. 

How grateful I am that my dad would take the opportunity that morning to single me out, one of eight children, and spend a precious half hour alone with him. Time seemed to slow almost to a standstill that morning as he paused, without any distractions, to tell me, really tell me, how much he loves me.