Entombed

The theme of my walk repeated itself over and over: entombment. Bits of grass, leaves, sticks, even papers are trapped beneath a layer of ice.

At first this feels stifling, suffocating—but then I begin to notice that each item is breaking free. The maple leaf’s edge is flapping in the fierce wind. A stick creating the body of what appears to be an ice dragonfly is protruding from the clear, crystalline surface. Ochre and green blades of grass are thrusting their swords through tiny openings in the frozen water. And even the thick, yellowish paper pokes its corner through milky, hazy ice.

I realize that when I think I’m stuck, I’m actually being held by God. I am not ready for what lies ahead—not yet. Part of me pushes on, exposed, flailing out into the elements. But Wisdom bids me wait until the sun warms me, until breaking out of my entombment does not harm me. When the ice melts, every part of me is ready to move on, unencumbered.

I may not like being held, for sometimes being enclosed feels constrictive—God’s arms have a weight to them that is unlike anything else I’ve experienced. But if I am relaxed and nonresistant, I can see outside myself and observe the beauty unfolding. I am not trapped after all.

All photos © Sondra Sula.

Living in Brokenness

Near the North Aurora dam there is a big crack in the ice. The crack extends out from the east edge, cutting a diagonal line that ends mid-river, at the mouth of the dam. Water from underneath the ice flows down and over the shallow dam. This crack creates a large triangle, about two hundred feet on its longest side.

I imagine this triangle, this massive chunk of ice, cracking off. How exciting and frightening it would be to see it come crashing down the tiny falls, breaking into smaller pieces. I imagine the noise, the piercing cracks, the pushing of air from the wings of surprised mallards, geese, and herons, and the immense splashes of solid hitting liquid. All of this would take place rather quickly and then things would gradually go back to the way they were.

Sometime in our lives, we are living with a crack. We’re so afraid of a part of us breaking off and flowing down the river. We’re afraid of the repercussions, of getting hurt, of hurting others. But God is with us. Even when the piece breaks off. Even as we gradually get back to whom we once were. Even if we’ve changed and that triangle of us is forever gone, God remains with us.

This blog is an excerpt from my latest book: Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond: A Daily Devotional, sold through Amazon.
Artwork: “St. Teresa’s Egg Cup” by Sondra Sula. All photos © Sondra Sula.

The Revealing Thaw

“Thawing Ridge” by Sondra Sula

“Snowy Burger Revealed” by Sondra Sula

“Encased Butt” by Sondra Sula

Suddenly there is a break in the sub-zero temperatures of northern Illinois and the mercury is climbing. Over a foot of snow is melting quickly, and all the debris that was concealed by the glittering white fluff is once again being revealed.

“Love Cast Aside” by Sondra Sula

“Oh, Wendy” by Sondra Sula

For me, the litter represents addiction, whether it be to food, nicotine, alcohol, or something stronger. I keep coming back to the same craving over and over again, no matter how much I try to bury it under the snow. But when the big thaw arrives in the spring, I see the addiction more clearly, and it isn’t as attractive as it was when I first buried it.

“Burn for Renewal” by Sondra Sula

Because spring is a time of renewal, I feel the energy, the hope that this is the year I will change, that this year everything is possible. And perhaps it is.

As light dances on the cut fields, the broken dry grass, and the burnt prairie, I am absolutely certain greenness will rise from the roots and become something unimaginably sturdy and tall. This grass will withstand trampling, munching, drought, and flood. Some of it will tower over my head, provide cover for newborn fawns, and control erosion.

If I am willing to be reborn, God and the earth are cheering me on, showing me the cycle of miracle built into the system of nature. My renewed self, free of debris, can grow from firm roots and what I’ve learned from past addictions can lead to future strengths.

“Dappled” by Sondra Sula

Wholly Holy

“Holy Leaf” by Sondra Sula

As I looked down at my feet, trying not to slip in the snow, I noticed a single brown leaf pocked with holes and began to wonder what makes us holy.

Is it our porousness? Allowing God to move through us is certainly a good thing. When we follow the little nudgings, the intuitive parts of ourselves that may lead us in the opposite direction from logic, we discover new paths that would have been blocked if we were sealed up and slick.

Is it our willingness to let go of the branch? Trust definitely plays a part in our relationship with the Divine. When we go out on a limb for something we believe in, we must be willing to commit ourselves fully.

Is it our striving for wholeness? We would all like to feel complete, as if nothing is missing from us. And perhaps our feeling of incompleteness is simply an illusion. Perhaps in God’s eyes we are wholly holy now, just as we are, in this very moment.

What Lies Beneath

There are times when I feel like my life has gone fallow and a layer of winter ice has obscured my vision of tomorrow. I cannot fathom any sort of spring or renewal in the days ahead, but I can imagine slowly slipping backwards on the slick ice.

Then suddenly one day a crack forms and spreads apart. The frozen water melts just a tiny bit along the brittle, lacy edges. That is when I glimpse the unfiltered sun in all of its gold-drenched glory. That is when I find small green things have been secretly growing underneath the ice all along. God has been working inside the dormancy, much like the very center of a tulip bulb gathering energy during the winter so that it is ready to pierce the soil when the time is right.

I suspect we all need a time of rest, a time of Holy Waiting. And this time might appear like a rut, or a dreary, ongoing listlessness. Yet to know spring is inevitable, and no matter what I do or say cannot change that fact, gives me hope. Fresh growth is simply waiting to burst forth.

“Four” by Sondra Sula

“What Lies Beneath” by Sondra Sula