Jinn McCabe

“Winter on the Isle of Sci is windy, cold and wet. The days are dark and short, the nights dark and everlasting. The land is battered by fierce northern winds, which blast icy rain and snow by day, and gust through the roof thatch by night. The sun rises low–if it rises at all–and hovers close to the horizon, barely skirting the hilltops before losing heart and sinking once more into the icy abyss of night.”
~ Stephen Lawhead, The Paradise War

Winter is a dark time. Things get cold. I don’t mean just the weather, but that is a good place to begin. My husband is one of those rare individuals who doesn’t vehemently despise the icy abyss we call Wisconsin in winter, not only enduring but being warm despite it.

“One thing I like about winter,” he says every so often, “Is how good it feels to warm up after coming in from the cold.”
He describes stepping into a warm room, shrugging off a winter coat, then sipping hot chocolate or coffee. The clinging chill streams off clothes and skin until cold itself is just a memory. Perhaps there will be gingerbread cookies to share, or something equally delicious and seasonal, and a tree in the corner shimmering with tinsel and ornaments.

Regardless of tradition, I am often struck by the absurdness of winter decorations. Red glass balls hang everywhere to no practical end. Blinking lights and brass bells add their noise to what we see and hear already. Oversized socks no one except the Abominable Snowman could wear are tacked on the wall or the mantle. We bend pieces of evergreen into circle patterns and hang them on the doors, on cars, anything with a flat surface. We sing a lot (or some people do) about how happy life is…when obviously it’s not. More >