The Middle 09.

When winter hits and life slows down (or doesn't)

The darkness falls like a blanket on my drive home. If I were to romanticize it, I would say that it ushers in a solitude, a soliloquy of quiet, over the town in which I live. The reality is that I’m surrounded by obscenely bright headlights, and the town in which I live feels further away than normal as I sit in traffic. I long for the quiet, I drive in the noise.

As I write this there is a little snow globe beside me, and in it is a snowcapped cabin surrounded by trees. It is the opposite of what I experience on my dark drive home. My soul longs to winter there, to slow down and hibernate and contemplate the past year by candlelight, to consider the meaning of Christmas in the coziness of my home. It’s a long known irony that the most wonderful time of the year happens to be the most commercialized. The calendar is full of social pressure, holiday baking, and white elephant gift exchanges¹, and the to-do list is long.

Perhaps you, like me, yearn for a slow season of advent. You like the thought of the world slowing down as the night ushers in at 3:45PM, leaving ample room to contemplate this season. Perhaps, then, we might take a moment right here, right now, to create the slowness we crave. Perhaps as we read these words, we might still our souls. Slow our minds. Feel our feet on the ground. Realize that faithful gravity keeps us rooted towards God’s green earth.

Perhaps, as we look around, the noise of the twenty-first century falls away and is replaced by the sounds of a long ago place. Maybe cattle are lowing, the leaves are rustling, and the old stable quietly creaks as it prepares room for a king. The groans of a woman in labour drift up to the rafters, making their home in the cracks of old wood. The contractions come and she grimaces, body tensing as she breathes through the pain.

Is there a more middling space, than the space between labour and life? There is much about this story we do not know, and yet I find myself heavy in a holy way² for these moments before Immanuel burst out of the womb. What a mystery, the divine and humane mixing together. God amongst a placenta. God nourished by an umbilical cord he created. All-powerful God as a dependent baby, reliant upon his mother’s body.

I am tempted to draw this to a neat conclusion, and yet my mind runs in different directions. The anticipation Mary must have felt. Her fears and her wonderings. The ache of birth and the beauty that is born of that pain. The way Jesus relied on his mother’s body, to in turn offer us his. The hope in his divinity, the humility in his humanity. 

But maybe, here, in this middling space, God might speak to you about what he wants you to glean from this moment in history. Perhaps it is not about the conclusions I can neatly draw, but about the mysteries the Creator might draw to your mind as you travel through this moment. I invite you to spend some time pondering this part of the story, the one that has few scriptural details but has much to offer us in contemplation.

In lieu of a benediction, I would like to share an advent poem written by one of my closest friends.

The Grove by Madi Doell

this season of waiting

the world feels much
weighty in my hands
heavy on my shoulders
overwhelmingly so
so i take a walk

i feel a hand
urging me on
gently
into a meadow
amongst an orchard

flowers grow everywhere
in every corner
and they bloom love
and adoration in more colours
than i could imagine

-breathe-

the breeze of
overwhelming peace
that dances on my skin
and supernaturally calms the
soul

-breathe-

on the horizon
the sunrise dawns
and alongside dawns hope
so coral and rosy
and pleasantly warm on my face

-breathe-

this is
a soul gift of
sovereign contentedness
so plentiful and plump it
falls off the trees

-breathe-

i sit, i pause,
and i feel the safety
that surrounds
the overwhelming calm

-breathe-

the world feels so
unsure,
unsettled,
unwell,
it can be so catching

-breathe-

but here in
the grove
i feel nothing
but all the aspects of him

the love
the peace
the hope
the joy
the saviour

Journal Prompts:

• Knowing what you know about Jesus, what does it mean for you if he is fully human? Similarly, what does it mean for you if he is fully God?

• Spend some time contemplating the birth of Jesus, imagining what that night might have been like. What strikes you anew in this familiar story?

• What in your life feels like birth pains right now?

Practices:

• Take ten minutes to light a candle and contemplate the Christmas story.

• Listen to Breath of Heaven by Amy Grant (or this version, which I really like) and consider the lyrics.³

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Now for some fun stuff!

Here are things that have made me smile this month, because we can’t talk about serious stuff all the time:

• This incredibly wholesome comic by Nathan Pyle:

• We’ve all had a nap this good.

• The stuff people can create. With their hands. Is WILD. This artist blew my mind.

• If you’re in the mood for an existential crisis, might I suggest reading The Measure by Nikki Erlick? It’s an easy read with short chapters⁴ if you’re looking for something to help you hit that Goodreads reading goal.

• Everyone is obsessed with Trader Joe’s Everything But The Bagel seasoning, but might I suggest their lemon pepper? I put this lemony goodness on everything.

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Thanks for reading this edition of The Middle! Happy holidays, and I look forward to seeing where The Middle will take us in 2023. Feel free to leave a comment in the Substack App or Web Browser, or subscribe to receive next month’s email right to your inbox.

1. I do love a white elephant exchange, though. Just this weekend I left one party with reusable paper towels, chocolate, and an ornament, and another with a book. I was quite pleased.

2. You know when something sits heavy in your spirit? But not in a burdensome way, in a profound way? But it’s kind of indescribable? That’s what I’m getting at here.

3. “Breath of heaven, hold me together” might be my favourite lyric ever written

4. I love books with short chapters. It makes them go by so quickly.