Shadows, Part 2

The word "shadow" has sixteen definitions or shades of meaning in my dictionary. One of them is simply "darkness." In turn, "darkness" has a number of different nuances. The natural physical darkness of night is both an invitation and a facilitator for our bodies to rest. But that same night-darkness is feared by my young daughter, making many nights uncomfortable and unrestful, leaving me exhausted at dawn. This weariness then makes me vulnerable to the darkness of depression, which seems always to hover nearby, ready to seep in through any crack in my defenses. A friend of mine, who understands this struggle well, speaks of depression as "the shadow."

I've gradually become aware, the past few years, that the depression which assails me has a component of seasonal affective disorder as well - the darker days and longer nights of winter take a vague but noticeable toll on me.

Yet, in my heightened awareness at this season, I have found unexpected, sometimes startling, redemptive ways of looking at darkness. T. S. Eliot says to let "the darkness of God" come upon you. C. S. Lewis's hero Ransom finds the darkness on Perelandra dense with the presence, the spirit of God. George MacDonald notes that "all things seem rushing straight into the dark, but the dark still is God." And as Samwise Gamgee finds, looking up out of the forsaken land, a star shines most brightly against the darkest sky.

Shadows, Part 1

There are, naturally, shadows between the trees. Within the past year, a number of shadows have fallen across my straight and narrow winding way. Some were mere wisps of grey, blown away easily at the breath of a breeze. Some were thick, heavy masses of black that I didn't think I'd ever be able to see through or emerge from. And of course there were many others of varying shades betwixt and between.

I've been thinking a lot about shadows as I've continued journeying. I've been pondering what they signify, and noticing that they sometimes look different from a little distance. I've been wondering where they come from, and where they go, and what imprint they leave.

Watching the Leaves Grow

Baby Girl just came and led me by the hand, eyes closed (mine, not hers), to the little tree in the backyard. "Look, Mama, it's growing leaves!" "Do you know what that means?" I asked. "Yes! Spring is als-most (her dialect) here!"

Following me back inside to coax the puppy out again with her, she announced, "I'm gonna go back and watch the leaves grow!"

Pure serendipity - that's what I always say this surprise-happy-40th-birthday-baby girl is. As she so often does, she has again innocently drawn my vision out of the tunnel of I'm-so-far-behind-must-get-this-done-today into the open air of in-spite-of-all-that-did-or-might-happen spring is als-most here, and it is full of wonder, and sometimes the most necessary thing we can do is watch the leaves grow.