Transformation: Good Winter
David Hensold
The transformation of summer into fall can feel so magical. The changing colors. The crisp air. The treats and traditions. But I find myself losing focus on the goodness and being overcome by dread. Winter is coming.
Winter in Illinois means snow and plenty of it. Snow means shoveling, even in the bitter cold when I can’t feel my hands. On snowy mornings, I’m often worrying about whether our cars will get stuck or slide off the road. Then there’s the sloppy slushy mess that gets tracked everywhere, which freezes the next day into a slippery death trap that you have to keep salted or you might get sued… okay that was a bit dramatic. But you get the point. Snow is a lot of work.
I didn’t always see it this way. As a kid, I loved the snow. I have the fondest memories of taking sleds to Harrison Hills golf course with my siblings and cousins. Of making snowmen in the front yard for passersby to admire. Of preparing piles of snowballs to prove my mettle in a spirited snowball fight that too often ended in tears. Of trekking through our several-acre property (and sometimes even the adjacent corn fields) pretending to be on a survival quest in some far off land. And snowdays! Few things in life are better than the sheer joy of having your expectations of an average day of school and homework and chores flipped upside down at the last instant by Mother Nature into a day of fun activities, tasty treats and no responsibilities. But then we grow up.
Becoming an adult can really suck the wonder out of life. There are work deadlines and pressures. There is house cleaning and home improvement projects. Laundry and car maintenance and doctor appointments. We have friends and family to keep up with and be there for. Church commitments to keep. There is a lot to juggle. And as a parent, kids have added yet another layer of tasks, stressors, and opportunities to feel like I’m not doing enough.
Becoming a father to two sons has been simultaneously the most challenging and most rewarding thing I’ve done in my entire life. Their needs are constant. Their energy is incessant. But they also offer this unique gift to transform the way I see the world. The simplest activity, like a picnic in the park, can feel like a trip to the moon when my son is excited about it. With and through them, I get to re-experience joy and wonder in ways that I had forgotten about. This past winter I got to introduce my 9-month-old to snow for the first time by dragging his sled in countless circles in the most wet and heavy snow imaginable. He spent the whole time grinning and kicking to will the sled to go faster. I helped my 3-year-old build his first “Olaf” over which he was beaming with pride and devastated when it melted days later. We made snow angels and formed snowballs that we gently tossed around (thankfully no tears). We spent hours but it passed in a flash.
This winter, I know I’ll have to shovel. I know I’ll have to salt. I know it will be cold and messy. And I’m not looking forward to it. But I’m not dreading it either. Because when the work is done, I’ll follow my sons’ lead and jump right into the moment I’ve been given.
David lives in Washington with his wife, Elizabeth, and their two sons. He enjoys most sports and exercise, coffee, beer, video games and the occasional good bake. His son believes he builds dozers in his bedroom each day, when in reality he builds spreadsheets and powerpoints.