Wonder

Okay, I have to be honest. As much as I love seasons, winter is starting to be a drag. Don't get me wrong, I love the sparkly snow. I love the multiple hot beverages per day. I even love the way that snow days force you to stay home and turn down the volume on your life.

That's all fine and good.

I am so over the stuffing of the little limbs into coats, the hats gaily flung off while the boots are being put on, the truly incredible amount of time that must be added to every arrival and departure. You know what's even more fun than two preschoolers and all their winter gear? When one of them is ever so slightly not exactly potty trained.

Please don't even get me started on the driving. I learned to drive in Minnesota but no amount of experience prepares me for the anxiety of making a slippery turn with two profoundly expressive backseat helpers.

Luckily, those very same preschoolers are the reason that I am finding more than the average helping of joy and wonder in this season. We just finished our study of animals in winter and this week moved onto shadows and Groundhog's Day. I am once again amazed that in my thirty two years of life and multiple viewings of the classic Bill Murphy vehicle by the same name, I never really understood nor bothered to learn more about Groundhog's Day or the related Catholic holiday of Candlemas, which celebrates on February 2 an event described in the Gospel of Luke.

From the mighty Wikipedia:

According to the gospel, Mary and Joseph took the baby Jesus to the Temple in Jerusalem forty days after his birth to complete Mary's ritual purification after childbirth, and to perform the redemption of the firstborn, in obedience to the Law of Moses (Leviticus 12, Exodus 13:12-15, etc.). Luke explicitly says that Joseph and Mary take the option provided for poor people (those who could not afford a lamb) in Leviticus 12:8, sacrificing "a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons."

Upon bringing Jesus into the temple, they encountered Simeon the Righteous. The Gospel records that Simeon had been promised that "he should not see death before he had seen the Lord's Christ" (Luke 2:26). Simeon prayed the prayer that would become known as the Nunc Dimittis, or Canticle of Simeon, which prophesied the redemption of the world by Jesus:

Now you are releasing your servant, Master, according to your word, in peace; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared before the face of all peoples; a light for revelation to the nations, and the glory of your people Israel (Luke 2:29-32).

Simeon then prophesied to Mary: "Behold, this child is set for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and for a sign which is spoken against. Yes, a sword will pierce through your own soul, that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed" (Luke 2:34-35).

The elderly prophetess Anna was also in the Temple, and offered prayers and praise to God for Jesus, and spoke to everyone there about Jesus and his role in the redemption of Israel (Luke 2:36-38).

I am very sure that I never encountered Candlemas or those originating verses in Luke in all my years of CCD. The things you learn when they bounce off your child onto you!

I've been poking around these notions of premonition and prophesy and remembering how I used to really wish that someone would just tell me the answer to some of the big questions that I had about my life. In the early days of dating Joe, especially when he was living in Scotland, I spent a lot of time wondering and wishing I knew what our lives together or apart would hold. When I was grieving my miscarriages, I wanted someone to just tell me if I would be able to have a healthy, full term baby of my own. I felt like, even if the answer was no, I would be able to move forward in coping if only I knew how the story would end.

Somewhere in the last five years or so, in the crazy swirl of parenting little children, I released my need to know the ending. I can't say if this is progress or not because it also feels related somehow to the way I can't watch some kinds of movies or read certain sorts of books because I worry that the heartbreak within might be too great to bear.

Winter is such a dark time. I am so thankful for all the small glowing treasures that light the way to Spring.

But that's a post for another day.