Wonder of Winter, Part 2: Winter Walk

I am currently in Nova Scotia visiting my family. It’s been a good time so far: puzzles with my brother Adoniram, cooking with Mom and my sisters, listening to my brothers’ grand schemes, making special buns for Dad, conversations and stories with all of them. I also got to watch my beautiful friend Kathleen get married on Saturday.

When I came, there was no snow here, but on Sunday night it snowed. Yesterday morning I woke to the wonderful patterns of light and clouds dancing over the snowy North Mountain. When I lived here, I watched the mountain whenever I got a chance. I still don’t get tired of the beauty.

Yesterday morning, I took a walk in the snowy woods with my two youngest brothers when they had a break from their school work. It reminded me of many other walks I have taken in those woods–and this poem. I wrote it last November, but it was built from notes I took on a winter walk in my family’s woods about two years ago.

Winter Walk

The heat of hearth and friction of thwarted dreams 
in the dim farmhouse 
compel me out into brittle cold. 
I forge through snow, toward frosted trees-- 
shelter and wonder of winter woods. 

My boots are swallowed by footprints 
left by some wanderer, heedless as I 
to tramp these woods on the coldest day. 

Restless flames in my soul leap forth 
to blaze new paths through unbroken snow, 
pushing aside branches, 
straight into sunlight. 

My driven steps merge with the trail of a deer. 
A cry for hope 
burns in my lungs and mingles with the frigid air. 

I duck under one last branch, 
still chasing the light, 
and break out into a clearing 
of brilliant snow surrounded by trees 
crowned with the gift of the cold 
and awake with sun.

Rebecca Weber

Color Threads: Red

Enjoy these random reds from my photo files!

Juicy, robust red

photo credit: Daniel Weber

People I love in red…

I want a red to be sonorous, to sound like a bell. If it doesn’t turn out that way, I add more reds and other colors until I get it.

Pierre-Auguste Renoir, French Impressionist painter, 1841-1919

Dying red…

Fruitful red…

If one says ‘Red’ – the name of color – and there are fifty people listening, it can be expected that there will be fifty reds in their minds. And one can be sure that all these reds will be very different.

Josef Albers, German-born American abstract painter and designer, 1888-1976

You can’t go wrong with the use of red; every painting should have red in it.

George De Groat, American painter, 1927-1994

To me, red symbolizes decision, daring, and drama. Perhaps this is an appropriate time, then, to declare my plans for the next year. Or, rather the plans that God has led me to.

I have written a little about my time in Ontario this summer. The people I connected with and the ministry I was involved in have stayed on my heart. I am going back. Some of the details–important details like work and housing–haven’t been finalized yet. Sometimes I think I must be crazy, going out on a limb like this and expecting God to keep on working out the details. But. He has provided things already, and as long as He keeps opening doors, I’ll keep walking through them and trust that the next one will open just in time.

I hope to live in the city of Kitchener and work with Reach (where I was in July.) Nothing fancy–getting together with people, building relationships, being there to speak a word of truth when the time is right. It won’t always be simple, but the concept is not complicated. It’s really not that different from what any follower of Jesus can do anywhere: sharing His love in the dark places, with a passion fueled by His grace.

It’s only because of the crimson blood of Jesus shed for our redemption that there is hope to share. His death opens into endless life. With an inheritance of eternal life like this, there is no reason not to risk our own comfort, to dare and dream and get excited about the joy and life Jesus might want to bring to others through us.

In two weeks, Lord willing, I’ll be driving my little red car toward Ontario. My aunt and Mom’s cousin from Ontario are coming to visit a few days before I leave, and then I’ll drive them back. So I’ll have wonderful travel companions.

The closer I get to the time to leave, the more I realize what all I’ll be leaving behind here in Nova Scotia. My family. Friends. A church that has taught me how to be at home. The North Mountain. The Annapolis Valley. But still, I’m excited to see where this story will lead. If God is for us, who can be against us?