Dear Friends,

Well,  I’ll admit that January seemed a bit of a slog to me, but now, we turn the page on the calendar and it’s February, and you know where that is leading. My cousin, Barbara Crooker, wrote a lovely poem called “Late February” that I’m going put at the end of this note.  I love the last line.

And, I’m trying to take my cue from a book I just learned about; it’s by Katharine May and it’s called Wintering, and I wish I’d discovered it last November.  It talks about taking a cue from our animal friends and not trying to fight the different rhythms of winter but rather adapt and adjust.

She writes:  “Chance and animals don’t fight the winter.  They don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives they lived in the summer.  They prepare.  They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through… Winter is not the death of the life cycle but its crucible.  Once we stop wishing it was summer, winter takes on a sparse beauty… It’s a time for reflection and recuperation, for slow replenishment, for putting your house in order.” (Excerpt from Wintering The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times)

If you haven’t yet had the chance to check out Ian’s wonderful “Music Mondays” program, you can sample it here.  It’s a chance to hear him play a wonderful Bach cantata, for instance, and tell you a bit about how it came to be written.  If you’ve missed a worship service on Sunday, you can find it on our First Parish in Lincoln You Tube channel here.

Sarah and I have been doing a sermon series on “words that matter to us,” taking the words and phrases of the Covenant and Call to Ministry.  Now, we want to hear what you think about these words.  Let us know your thoughts here.

Thank you for letting us know what you think.

Jenny


“Late February”
By Barbara Crooker

And light begins to soften
Around the edges. Snow’s flannel
Sheets recede, fold back, and look,
The grass is still there,
A fresh green quilt waiting
To be hung on the line.
Crocus cut their teeth
In perennial beds
Spring holds her breath.
White-throated sparrows
Whistle up the sun.
Every day, another cup of light.

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