Today has been a gift of a day. I have taken a day apart to write, read, pray and spend some quiet time with myself as I stare out the window of a friend’s lovely home. As I sit in a comfortable chair looking out at a frozen, snow covered pond, the fact that this is pure blessing is not lost on me. This is what is called a retreat day and it is a good thing to have at the beginning of a new year. I have had the luxury of watching the sunlight move and play on the trees and across the surface of the frozen pond. Outside the window, chickadees and other small birds flit from bare branch to the feeder that is nestled at the edge of the pond. A moment ago a blue jay swooped in like he owned the place, which for that window of time he did. But earlier, when the downy woodpecker was having breakfast, he would not have been the Alpha.

Earlier this week, I sat with my co-workers at a meeting where we discussed what it  means to feel you are standing at a threshold. Of course, each new year is a threshold, a beginning of sorts. We talked about how difficult it is to photograph a threshold, how it it nearly impossible to see through the lens and capture what you intuitively know or what you desperately hope. So much of this difficulty is about light. The way light spills through an open door, or across a gate that is slightly ajar can be challenging to capture in a photograph. It can also be challenging to understand what the open door can mean. To what are we being called? Is there enough light to see where we are going? Or is the real goal to be able to move with confidence, or at least patience, into a darkened place, through a darkened door?

In one of many books I have stacked around me right now, the short, simple four line poem reads:
at every turn,
wherever you are,
unexpected,
God says BE STILL.

Standing at a threshold requires us to take a few moments to get our bearings before we step forward. Having the courage to become attuned to the call of an opening……or a closing……door, demands a deep breath and a moment of silence before proceeding. Taking the time and patience that is needed before stepping toward the light that seeps through the crack of an open door or the new year, challenges us to remember that the Holy is the companion who accompanies us at every turn, even when we are least aware. Thresholds may bring many things we assume will be on the other side but also unexpected experiences.

Today I have watched the winter birds flit and flurry. But I have also observed them sitting still atop towering trees. In the silence they are waiting for the threshold of spring that is yet far off. But the ever increasing light that is offered each day speaks of what is to come.

In silence and in expectation, we wait.