Sometimes in winter (which it is now), when it’s sunny (which it was yesterday), I go upstairs to the bedroom in the late morning to make the bed after it’s finished airing. But as I enter the room, before I get to the bed, something on the windowsill stops me in my tracks.
There is the green green of the Mother-in-Law’s Tongue plant. There is the royal blue of the flowers on the cream jug. There is the shocking pink of the cyclamen. And there is the soft, low light of the winter sun shining through it all.
My breath catches in my throat. These colours, in this light. It’s so intensely beautiful that I simply cannot understand it.
I’m caught up in a whole feeling. I feel like I’m wrapped in delicate cream lace. I stand mesmerised and with tears in my eyes.
Winter can be a challenging time in many ways. But later that day I get to thinking that without winter, that particular moment of beauty couldn’t exist. The cyclamen doesn’t flower in spring and summer. The light is entirely different in the warmer months. That beauty was only possible in that moment.
I wrote this poem during a challenging time in the winter of 2022/2023. It came in a moment of realisation that here in the pain, there was also beauty, when I slowed down and was open and curious enough to let it in.
Don’t pray for peonies in winter.
Be wise.
Pray instead for clearer sight.
For fresh eyes
to see,
to recognise,
that here, too,
there is something beautiful.
Being in the midst of a challenge, pain, or struggle isn’t easy. But if we can orient ourselves towards finding the growth or beauty or gift that’s possible only because of the situation we find ourselves in, we give it a constructive meaning that can help us get through it a little easier.
I’m training myself to more consistently ask questions like these. I hope they’re helpful to you, too:
What gold is there to gather in the darkness?
What gift is hiding in the pain?
What is there for me to learn here?
How is this helping me grow?
What beauty exists only because of this experience?
For a softer version of these questions, substitute the words ‘is there’ for ‘might there be’. What gold might there be to gather in the darkness? What gift(s) might there be hiding in the pain? What beauty might exist only because of this experience? etc.
Love and courage,
Leah