I Heard a Song that Sounds like Snow

I heard a song that sounds like snow
Notes drifted lightly to and fro.
Filling holes and making clean
At once opaque and glistening.

My toes are cold beside the fire.
I sent them out in weather dire.
They grabbed the cold and brought it in
And will not let it go again.

White Winter Days and Inevitable Clichés

The storm came, and for some reason I feel as though I never believed in snow flakes. I blinked, startled when one found her home on the window where I stood and watched. I’ve been to Colorado many times... The first five years of my life we had snow every year... I must have known that it didn’t always descend in tiny sleet-ish pelts... So I don’t know why I feel so surprised now, that for the history of the world there have been countless, all different, and mine were the only eyes to see this one before she melted. I tried to memorize her lines and cuts but failed, and that is okay. “Have you seen entered the storehouses of the snow, or have you seen the storehouses of the hail...” God asked Job. Why should snow be so beautiful? I know there is a scientific explanation for these winter jewels, but why should it be so? How extravagant.

The first day of the blizzard I asked for every outside job I could get, and when we had a break I ran outside and for thirty minutes jumped and hurled myself face first into the knee deep blanket that covers the L’Abri acres. I laughed so hard I thought I would choke to death on snow. We screamed and ran across the frozen pond, and I ate snow piles off of the leaves of small trees. They looked like little platters of icing.

This only represents a few hours of a week full of pain, prayer, laughter, anger, repentance and worship. I suppose this will be what most weeks are made up of for the rest of my life. And I can’t avoid cliches. What is there to say about winter, but that it is blueish white and new each year? There are two trees outside of our house that are about four stories high each, and naked they look like gate posts to a world of giants. I imagine myself scrambling around in snow that would only come up to their shoelaces.

There are about 18 faces at each meal now, mostly from Europe and the United States with different questions and prayers, each with their own histories and according to the Bible, each bearing God’s image uniquely. (Genesis 1) I am humbled to be here to serve them. Thankfully, most are staying the whole term, and we can get to know each other slowly, one meal at a time as we laugh and argue and seek Truth.

May you be surprised by your world today. I believe it is a work of art (as are you), made by the Great Artist, that you might draw your eyes upward. And to my beloved friend Julie, who has been ever faithful, ever generous, may you know you are cared for from Boston. I think of you all the time.

Are the Birds With You?

Sitting still at a familiar desk, I stare out the window where I watched the lilies blossom in the summer, the tree above flame gold and red in the fall, and where now the river has iced, locking into place her lumps and ripples. I have yet to see my heron. The lilies have shuddered away and the tree has taken on a solemn height, no longer rustling in the wind, but quiet as winter howls through its limbs.

I returned to L’Abri last Wednesday, and so perhaps have returned to my blog. In coming back to this shelter, I have left behind another. The one of familiar faces, of my sisters and friends who know me well, of a Christmas filled with the quirky intimacies of long-standing relationships; laughter, forgiveness and tears, and much, much more laughter. One shelter for another, but this is the one in which I am placed now, to welcome and face each person that comes through our doors. We number sixteen now, a patched together group, praying, waiting, watching and learning from one another.

In the summer I was bursting with pain and relief and freedom, in the fall on fire with lessons newly learned, and so far, these few days, the winter has brought a stillness to me, even to the moments I have laughed the hardest. Though, even as I write this, I have to smile and wonder, for my emotions at times seem to push me from behind and it is early in the winter to know if it will be a still one. There is much to be learned, and much to be prayed.

A blizzard creeps up the coast to meet us tonight, so we are busy about the work of sealing windows and stocking up on hot chocolate and soup. The birds seem to have alerted as well, for they are nowhere to be seen. I look forward to seeing this aspect of God’s creation, as it is one with which I am less familiar.

Oh, and as you may have guessed, the stoves in the house are lit. The excitement for the blizzard comes from a girl about four feet from a 300 degree wood burning stove. I have not toughened up, or at least, not that I have noticed. I look forward to spending this third season here, and with you all. Once again, if you write me, know I will write you back. I will even send you some snow, if you like! Though if it morphs with the strain of the journey, it is no fault of mine. Grace and Peace.

Abby Lorenc

L’Abri Fellowship Foundation

49 Lynbrook Road

Southborough, MA

01772.