New Life From the Cold Ground

We awoke this morning to a snow-covered wonderland. The pond is frozen over after several days of record-setting cold. The days may be growing longer, and the promise of spring remains, but today, winter maintains her icy grasp. 

Signs of life are few and far between. The naked branches of our fruit trees, the absence of songbirds at our backyard feeders, and the silence in the neighborhood are testimony to our annual cold-weather hibernation. Looks, however, can be deceiving. 

The roots of those fruit trees are storing energy for summer’s harvest. Songbirds have begun their migration from warmer climates in the south. Behind their shuttered windows, people are planning summer barbecues and home improvement projects. Far from a lifeless season, winter is a time of renewing and preparing. We hunker down, and we get to work. 

Last week, sorting through old files in my office, I discovered an essay I wrote 15 years ago in response to a social issue of the day. I sat down and started to read my own words. To my surprise, I found myself disagreeing with what I had written. In the intervening years, I had changed. 

On this frigid February morning, as I stare out the window at dark and heavy clouds filling the sky, Joni Mitchell is singing to me. “Now old friends are acting strange; they shake their heads, they say I’ve changed.” I feel that in my bones. 

Back when I wrote the article, many agreed with me. The fact that I no longer believe what I argued for back then makes them uncomfortable. I sense that they wonder if I’ve lost my way. I see it in their eyes and their questioning glances. 

Change comes with a cost. The fractured ice on the pond beyond my backyard is an apt metaphor for the current fragility of our country. I have heard too many stories of lost friendships, broken families and feelings of betrayal. Theology, politics and allegiances shift, and old friends don’t understand. 

As a younger man, I heard Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now” as lament. It seemed to speak of losing your bearings and bearing the losses that life inevitably brings. Now, instead, I’m hearing hope in these words. 

Having looked at life from both sides now, she sings, “It’s life’s illusions I recall.” There is an embrace of uncertainty and a willingness to live in ambiguity. The summation, “I really don’t know life at all,” is not an admission of defeat but a recognition that there is always more to learn and experience, and an invitation to curiosity and growth. 

Fifteen years ago, I was convinced of my position on a significant cultural touchpoint, but I changed, and here is why: I woke up to the damage that position was inflicting on the lives of others. The moral high ground I claimed came at a high cost to people’s dignity and personhood. My belief became untenable when faced with the hurt it was causing. Love demanded something more. 

In the 2024 movie Conclave,” Cardinal Lawrence, played by actor Ralph Fiennes, tells his fellow church leaders, "There is one sin I have come to fear above all others: Certainty.” Certainty feels comfortable, allowing us to walk through the world with nary a doubt that we might be wrong, but both Joni Mitchell and Cardinal Lawrence remind us it can be detrimental to one’s soul. 

“Something’s gained in living every day.” Here is what is gained: A bigger table. A more robust community. Bridges built instead of burned. Beauty in diversity. Personal growth. New knowledge. Appreciation for difference. An expanding palette of new flavors, colors and sounds. A richness we never knew existed when trapped in our insulated worlds. New growth means a more wondrous, beautiful and rich life. Whatever is lost will be replaced a hundred times over. 

As the song comes to an end, I notice the snow is melting. A gaggle of geese have flown in to explore the far reach of the pond. Seasons are shifting. The older I get, the more I admit I really don’t know life at all, and that is OK. New life may yet spring up from this cold ground if we don’t get in the way. 

Award-winning columnist Dan Whitmarsh is a licensed therapist and pastor at Lakebay Community Church.