Letter No. 4 [times of rest]

Dear Friend,

I had these thoughts Sunday, and I wanted to share them.

The snow still hasn’t stopped falling. It cocoons us inside and makes everything cozier.

I was driving to Lenox this morning and experienced something magical. As I drove down the highway, snowflakes started appearing. They weren’t blowing, they weren’t falling. It looked like each flake was suspended in the air as I drove through them, and they grew thicker as I drove further, the dark stands of pine and evergreen their backdrop. I’ve never experienced something like that before. It felt like I was passing into a fairyland.

I’ve been thinking about the future (I warned you about this). I was talking to mom about it today in the kitchen as she rolled and sugared balls of molasses cookie dough.

I told her I feel this heaviness all of the time because I don’t think I’m putting enough time into pursuing my career or getting there fast enough.

Her words are always filled with wisdom. She told me how my concerns reminded her of the characters in Pilgrim’s Progress reaching peaceful valleys or quiet streams, and how they never worried over that time of rest. She told me that there isn’t anything wrong with stepping forward with caution, that slow is okay. Sometimes I need my mom to remind me of these things.

So I want to do this; I want to rest in the times of rest and be prepared with each step forward. I want to enjoy the afternoons like this one—most everyone napping, the kitchen warm and smelling of baking cookies, our tea getting cold and our German Shepherd lying at our feet as snow falls outside. This is a moment of rest, and I’m grateful for it and the words of a woman who deeply loves and cares for me.

Tara