Upslopes

5410103711_dbedf5b3df_bColorado has been fortunate this winter, some cold snowy days, but February was a string of warmth. We have had a winter storm warning for the past three days, starting midweek, getting ready, waiting. Apparently, the liquor and grocery stores were packed on Friday, people anticipating. I had a little “wait and see”, but I longed for a good snow dumping. The beautiful thing about Colorado weather, is you can try to predict it, but until it happens? Well, better to just not say too much.

Mid-morning Saturday, with an inch or so, the streets were only wet, temperatures balmy in the 30s. My mom, daughter and I headed up north for a little shopping and lunch. By this time, folks on social media were mocking the weather, and raining down veiled insults upon the sacrificial meteorologist lambs. Many believed the bluff was called. While in J. Crew, my daughter having the time of her life debating denim choices, we watched the storm barrel in like a brakeless freight train. The roads once only wet, were now icy and packed down, visibility just barely, cars inching along with little to no traction. This upslope was a contender.

These powerful storms, all eventually leave, but when they are central to your existence, nothing can channel thoughts elsewhere. Upslopes gather moisture from the south, rotating clockwise slowly, wrapping the region, bumping up against the foothills. The energy stays on the Front Range, where snow can fall in feet down here, while the mountains may be sunny and warmish.

What about the storms I face? My upslopes?

I have issues that regularly wrap around and back, with insecurity arriving from the north, purposelessness gathering steam in the south, to collide perfectly at my center: food, weight, body issues warning of impending record-setting events. Yes, I can sometimes predict when they will show: spring after cold winter months of eating comfort food; after very busy life seasons; during grief, new kid stages, certain marriage events, holidays. I try to anticipate, but these upheavals can still come unexpectedly, and with force. The force is sometimes more than I can manage. It seems these life events wrap around, coloring all of my existence, my faith, my hope, my purpose. They bump against what I know, what I’ve learned, the strength earned. Gaining momentum or losing it, depending on many factors, mostly fueled by my choices toward surrender and control. Some are here to stay, creating in me a new existence, a new manner of viewing the world, challenging me to my core. Not moving out anytime soon.

If I get so focused on the fear of the next uprising, the howling wind, the cold, I lose the opportunity to see beauty. How the snow falls when it has settled in, the naked tree branches perpetually reaching higher as if awaiting a pat on the head for the effort, birds on wire in defiance. The opportunity afforded to rest in the unknown, to acknowledge the change in landscape, finding a new place to discover oneself. Life-giving moisture for drought-prone land.

These upslopes in my life and heart change and switch, move and shift. Some show up unexpectedly, and some predictably. Sitting, twisting, churning and moving out. They always move out, it might take a few years, but we all eventually reach a new normal. After the spectacular show, a gap is present, small or big doesn’t matter. The terrifying suffering is more behind me than in front, a return to normal seasonal temperatures, dry weather, regular days, stepping in time. And this is me. The upheaval rocks my world, sends me into a spin, challenges and discomforts. It always leaves…with me anew, changed, adjusted.

What do I do with the gap? The regular and settled in days? Do I take what I learned and water others? Do I move to a new place in my faith journey? Do I recognize the risk of vulnerability and take more chances? I hope so. I hope I don’t just stand braced for the next one, but instead, live my days with gained truth, from a place of fresh hope, surrendered strength, muscle ready to fight for what I now know.

There is always new life in the aftermath. Green, sprouting, fresh, stored up energy for the next journey, the rising day, the long-awaited rebirth. There is always hope, even in the bleakest and severest. Let me remember to cling tight when the cold rattles and re-shapes my bones, when life will no longer, ever, return to my idea of normal. Let me grow stronger, taller, ever-reaching, reinforcing the old supports. Settling in with grace and confidence, trusting the strength of not me, but the strength of the One who holds me fast.

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/81474147@N00/5410103711″>Snowpocalypse Chicago Snowmageddon 2011</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a>