“How did you make it through?” we asked our friend, Varuna.
“One day at a time,” she said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the line in the Lord’s Prayer, Give us this day our daily bread. That’s what I had to rely on. Asking God for what I needed each day.”
In February of 2020 Varuna traveled to India with her 2-year-old twin boys, planning to spend a month with her family while her husband stayed in New York. But then the pandemic hit and travel restrictions turned four weeks into seven months. Their reunion date uncertain, she learned to take the unexpected separation one day at a time.
I carried her wisdom with me for the past year and a half. I’ve been thinking about that line in the Lord's Prayer especially during this winter season. Winter can easily become a season we just want to get through as quickly as possible. Depending on where you’re from, winter can seem to drag on forever. In Montana, it often feels like it lasts six months, not just three. During those extra long cold snaps in New York when the air is not only frigid but also humid, causing the chill to climb up your sleeves and sink into your bones, it can feel extra long too.
And yet, I think one day at a time might be the best way to get through a winter season, whether it’s marked by the calendar or just a season of rest for your soul.
The trees know how to embrace winter regardless of its length. Maybe it’s because they take it one day at a time. Give us this day our daily snow. They stretch out their bare branches to receive the white flakes and let them gather into frosted piles on their arms.
Our first snow of the year in the city came at the beginning of January. The day after it snowed, I walked through Central Park while the sun shone down on the freshly frosted hills and branches and trails. The trees carry snow so beautifully only because they let everything else go. They are only expecting what comes that day. They shed their leaves and wait for whatever comes next—ready, with open arms. One day at a time is exactly how trees approach winter.
The first snow in the city was fairly mild. It glittered to the ground and rested gently in the park. Our second storm was not glittery. The snow raced angrily to the ground, wind gusts whipping the icy flakes around for hours Friday night that turned into most of the day Saturday. When the sun came out on Sunday morning our kids begged us to take our sled to Central Park. We bundled up and clomped along the snowy sidewalks to our glorious shared backyard. After squealing down the slick hills for an hour I finally turned my gaze up to the tree branches above. Almost all of the branches were bare. The storm the day before brought close to a foot of snow but most branches resembled bread lightly dusted in powdered sugar. Those winds had kept the snow from staying in the trees. The weight of this storm wasn’t theirs to carry.
Winter is a time we often want to rush ahead. I rarely walk slowly from place to place right now. I want to get back to where it’s warm. But maybe receiving only our daily bread and nothing more requires us to sit in the season and not rush through it. Maybe it requires us to let things come and not control the way they fall. Maybe it requires us to actively look for and think about ways we can be still. Maybe, when we’re still, we’ll learn we don’t have as much to carry.
Brett flew to Beijing on Wednesday to cover the Olympics. We won’t see him again until the end of February. When I mention this to friends – this month of solo parenting - a common response is, “That’s a lot.” I guess it is. I guess it could be. But I’ve been thinking about what Varuna told me and what the trees show me. One day at a time. As uncomfortable as being apart might be, I don’t want to rush ahead either. I want to be still enough to be present. Still enough to notice and wonder. Still enough to spread my bare arms out wide, ready to carry what’s needed and let the Holy Spirit sweep away what isn’t mine to hold.
There are a few things I’ve been trying to do to cultivate a posture of stillness in this season instead of trying to rush through it.
Listening instead of thinking about what to say. I’m trying to be a better question asker. Instead of contributing to the conversation with my ideas, I want to contribute more questions. Ask the follow up. Listen for the answer. Let my voice be still and my ears be active.
Waiting in line without pulling out my phone. I’ve actually been trying to leave our apartment a few minutes earlier so I’m not rushing up the hill to get my kids right when they open the school gate. Instead, I build in time to be still. I keep my phone in my pocket and do not pull it out to scroll social media or check my email. Same at the grocery store or waiting for the subway or waiting to meet a friend if I get there earlier. I’m trying to resist the urge to pull out my phone and just be. Observe. Notice. Breathe.
Wrestling with the idea instead of escaping the thought. When it comes to writing, this stillness looks like staying at the page. When it gets hard, I am committed to wrestling with the idea instead of escaping the thought. Sometimes being still means staying instead of stopping. This could be in writing or prayer or anything that seems hard at the moment. It could even be on a long run. It might mean I need to still my mind instead of my body.
Stopping into a church to be still in the middle of the day. I haven’t done this as much as I would like lately, but it remains, by far, my favorite practice of stillness. I don’t know about other denominations, but Catholic churches are typically open during the day. You can stop at any time to just sit and pray or observe. It is so refreshing to be in a space where you can hear the echoes of footsteps.
Reimagining Examen app. I have really enjoyed using this app to guide me through a prayer of examen each night. Each day has a different theme so it keeps me engaged instead of zoning out. There is gentle music playing and the questions are thorough enough that you can spend just a few minutes or quite a bit of time with them.
Regular social media breaks. I like social media for the most part. I like connecting with people through stories and most of my feed is either good friends or good writers (or both). But after awhile reading other stories or even thinking about sharing my own, I notice that neither my mind nor my heart can be still in that space. So this year I have built in time away from social media – and maybe most media. I will be taking the last day of the week, the last week of the month, and the last month of the year off. That timing was intentional. Most holidays fall during the last week of the month, and I want to be present with my people instead of online during those seasons.
The practice of looking for ways to be still helps me take things one day at a time. It slows me down and reminds me that, like the trees, I only need to carry the weight of one day, not a whole season. When we find ourselves in an uncomfortable season, perhaps the best way of getting through it is slowly. Perhaps rushing to the end isn’t the answer. Perhaps there are lessons and gifts in the stillness.
I’d love to hear how you get through your winter seasons. Do you want to rush through them or do you take them one day at a time, embracing moments to be still?
I’ll see you back in your inbox when those stubborn green shoots start peeking through melting snow,
Jodie
P.S. If you want more thoughts on winter, I’ve written on this topic before:
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Varuna created a podcast during her time in India. The episodes are short and full of wisdom. Take a listen here.
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My favorite benefit of slower days is more reading. Here are a few of my recent favorites if you’re looking for your next read. (I’m always happy to share more about why I loved these books if you ask, but summing up a whole book in a few sentences has never been easy for me. Just hit reply if you want a long winded answer on why I loved any of these books.)
Wintering by Katherine May
The Undocumented Americans by Karla Cornejo Villavicencio
The Cross and the Lynching Tree by James H. Cone
No Cure for Being Human by Kate Bowler
Are My Kids on Track by Sissy Goff, David Thomas, & Melissa Trevathan
The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab
I also mentioned on Instagram that my daughter and I have started a two-person book club. Here is our list of books we’ve read so far for those who have asked.
Lalani of the Distant Sea by Erin Entrada Kelly
Dear Mr. Henshaw by Beverly Cleary
Something to Say by Lisa Moore Ramee
Finding Perfect by Elly Swartz
The Vanderbeekers of 141st St. by Karina Yan Glaser
Slob by Ellen Porter