The circumstances faced this week were not quite what I expected.
We knew the temperatures were going to drop to historic lows, but it was the loss of electricity that took us most by surprise.
After spider-manning my way through the attic a couple times to thaw several frozen pipes with a hair dryer, properly engineering the perfect setting of the faucets on a drip, and keeping the chickens watered and fed did I finally have time to process the reality of not having power to maintain a convenient life.
For us, the lack of electricity meant using a generator and sump pump to drain the water collecting in the septic tank, burning the split wood in the wood stove to alleviate the frigid outdoor temps, and utilizing a lighter and gas stove to feed not only our family, but neighbors whose power had been shut off as well.
At one point, I looked around our house–kids playing with other kids in different rooms and adults sharing a meal and visiting in another room–and I saw concord…I saw gentleness…I saw selflessness…I saw kindness…and I saw fellowship…a true painting of community.
I realized–right in the middle of the absence of something so powerful and ingenious–that fellow humans needed each other. We now needed each other emotionally, spiritually, and physically in a way that we never really had before. Without electricity, the conveniences of life were removed–the ability to heat, cook, and see in the dark. We were forced to a place of fellowship and a common purpose. In a sense, without knowing when the power would return, we felt a little like we were surviving together and keeping each other grounded. This shared mission–spent over meals, shifting between both superficial and deep conversations, and keeping the kids active–truly moved me.
With the candles luminously burning throughout the house, the fire gently crackling in the wood stove, water slowly boiling in the kettle getting prepared for hot tea, and the children being gathered for a time of out loud reading I embraced a profound reality: my mind having finally settled on the loss of something so quietly necessary for so much of my life, and that it was ok that the power was out…it was ok that I didn’t know when the power would return…it was ok that my family was going to sleep in front of a fire to keep warm. I had accepted the loss of control, and I had embraced this new reality of life–however long it would last.
I realized in that moment that memories were being made, spirits were being matured, and community bonds were being forged.
As it turned out, our power did come back on, and my wife and I found ourselves on a walk the next morning after more snow had fallen.
As we were making our way through our little country neighborhood, we noticed something different about the trees. Their contours were being strikingly delineated by the new overnight snow that had settled on their branches. I thought to myself: how beautiful are these trees and their branches! We see these trees every time we walk, but with the snow on them now it sure made them stand out.
In that moment, I realized a parallel to life…
…the snow gives contours to the tree branches like challenges and trials give contours to life.
Not having electricity taught me many things…in a very short time…things that now have given striking contours to my life–as well as my family and community life–that otherwise would not have been there…and for that…my heart is grateful!
“…so that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold which perishes though tested by fire, may be found to result in praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ…”
1 Peter 1:7
How did/has/is/are the trial(s) giving contours to your life today?
— February 18, 2021