Embrace wonder
Years ago, on the edge of a mountain, I stood in the doorway and let myself be dazzled.
Welcome to Nourish, a free monthly newsletter to help you be kinder to yourself and others. I'm Erin Strybis, a writer, mama, bookworm and believer. In your January 2024 issue: a reflection on wonder, a winter blues care package and new reading recommendations for your enjoyment.
Dear reader,
Something about the start of the year brings me back to this moment. Standing in the belly of the Cascade mountains, I spun in a circle, gaping at their grandness. How they towered in silence and majesty. How they played peekaboo with the sun. And, depending on your vantage point, how they shifted from blue to gray to pine-speckled brown. The Cascades took up half the frame in my pictures from Holden Village, as if they were fellow pilgrims joining me on my sabbatical journey.
Of course, photos don’t do them justice. In the five days I spent among them in November of 2019, I never acclimated to their closeness. In Chicago, where I’m from, the land is flat as a pancake. Nestled in the bounds of Holden Village, I'd tip my head back and relish the views, dizzy with awe (and possibly mild altitude sickness).
My stay at this remote Lutheran retreat center came to fruition while I was on sabbatical from my job as a magazine editor. I went to the mountains to rest and to work on a book I’d begun writing. But there was more. I went to the mountains because the faith I’d once relied on, the faith that was the bedrock of my worldview, had fissured. In the span of two years, I’d watched both my husband and my father battle cancer, and what I couldn’t reconcile was this: Why does God let good people suffer?
Underneath that, another question: Is God real?
I took these questions and packed them away in my suitcase alongside pens, a notebook and my laptop, hoping they might work themselves out as I wrote. While on retreat, I settled into the rhythms of village life: regular meals, study and worship, plus hiking on the many trails that intersected with its center.
Halfway through my stay, I ventured to Hart Lake with two companions I’d met at Holden. Together we walked and traded stories about our beliefs and upbringings. After miles trekking in the cool shade of the forest, my fellow hikers and I glimpsed the sun hanging low in the azure sky. White birch trees lined the path. We set up for lunch on the side of the trail.
As I sat on the edge of the mountain and chewed my peanut butter sandwich, our conversation quieted. The three of us ate in comfortable silence. I studied the vista before me. From where we were perched, you could see hundreds of pine trees and hear the rush of a nearby waterfall which connected to an aqua mass of frozen water that was Hart Lake.
Of course, I admired the mountains. Their gargantuan seemed to me evidence of the One who sculpted the land, the sky, the seas. While I couldn’t quite reconcile the heartaches I still carried, in that moment, I felt a keen sense of wonder. Surely, this was a thin space.
A thin space, Shauna Niequist writes, “is an opportunity to be more aware of the Divine fingerprints all over this world.” In such settings or times, we feel deep in our bones our own mortality, how “[we] are dust and to dust [we] shall return” (Genesis 3:19). The new year, for example, could be a thin space. For many, the wilderness is a thin space invoking both awe and anxiety. For others still, witnessing the birth of a child or the death of a loved one is a thin space. Thin spaces are a doorway between this world and the next. Such thresholds amplify God’s presence.
Years ago, on the edge of a mountain, I stood in the doorway and let myself be dazzled. The faith I thought I’d lost had reemerged. Although I went to the wilderness to write, I was beginning to realize that the story I needed wasn’t the one I wanted to tell. The story I needed was one I was already living.
And so, my prayer for 2024 is quite simple, really: Keep dazzling me, God. Keep reminding me of your goodness and presence. And let me live to tell your story. Amen.
NOURISH YOURSELF
I’ll be honest, snow in Chicago was wonderful for approximately two days — sledding, snowball fights and snowmen, oh my! — and now the frigid temperatures have left me feeling blue blue blue! I miss playdates and doses of direct sunlight. I miss walking out the door without piling approximately 5 billion layers atop my children. I miss the freedom the warmer months afford. Sigh. While I can’t do anything about the weather here, I can make my own sunshine to try and lift myself out of frigid misery. Enter, my very own Winter Blues Care Package (™):
Finding refuge in text threads with other stay at home parents
Listening to this gorgeous cover song on repeat
Considering taking some Vitamin D tablets
Lathering this miracle lotion on chapped hands and lips
Planning a trip to see my bestie this spring
Lighting a cozy candle and wrapping myself in a blanket
Sharing hot cocoa with whipped cream with my boys in the afternoons
What helps you fight the winter blues? Let me know in the comments!
NOURISH OTHERS
I can’t stop thinking about this beautiful microessay by my friend
. She tells a story of connecting with a man at church who’d been praying for her during her cancer treatment: “If you think you have never encountered the living breathing risen Christ, I want you to know that 90% of the time he looks and sounds nothing like you’d expect,” she writes, “But he was there today, shuffling down the hallway, and may I never forget his words.” Fanucci’s words remind us both what it means to be authentically held by another person and to embody love. Whatever your beliefs, I would like to challenge you today to consider how you might care for one neighbor in your context. Who in your neighborhood, work, school or church needs to be held? How can you care for them with prayer and action? What might you say to them to help them know they are seen and loved?
NOURISHING WORDS
On my nightstand
Black Liturgies by Cole Arthur Riley: I’ve long admired the writings of Cole Arthur Riley (@blackliturgies). She recently released this gorgeous collection of prayers, poems and letters centering the Black experience, and I immediately downloaded the book to my Kindle. I’m soaking up Riley’s prophetic prose and letting it shape me.
Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros: Yarros’ popular “romantasy” (as my librarian friend Megan describes it) is a fast-paced adventure featuring Violet, a bookish young adult who’s destined to become a dragon rider. I found it highly entertaining, though heavier on the romance than to my taste.
How to Stay Married by Harrison Scott Key: Key’s memoir offers some of the most honest words on faith and doubt I've encountered. He’s also hilarious! And yet, I found myself closing his book with mixed feelings. I’m not sure I’d recommend it to everyone. Overall, I’m glad the author’s wife allowed him to share their story and I especially appreciated her chapter of the book and the wisdom they offer about navigating a hard marriage.
Recent writings from yours truly
Thanks, as always, for your readership! I hope you’ll join me in the comments section this month to discuss how you handle the winter blues. To close out this issue, here’s a quote from “Questions for the new year” (linked above):
In this new year, may you find peace in your enoughness, in knowing God loves and cares for you without condition. Nothing can separate you from God's love.
Grace and peace,
Erin
P.S., A hearty thank you to everyone who read and reviewed The Beauty of Motherhood: Grace-Filled Devotions for the Early Years. Kim and I recently received 100 reviews on Amazon and we are deeply grateful to know our words have resonated with readers like you!
“We talk so much of light, please
let me speak on behalf
of the good dark. Let us
talk more of how dark
the beginning of a day is.”
—Maggie Smith
Beautifully expressed 🤍
This put a lump in my throat. Thank you for your honesty. I am so glad for those thin places in our life!
I haven’t been able to leave my house in almost a week, so I am feeling a little blue myself. Here’s to the promise that the snow doesn’t last forever!