It’s seriously winter where I live. Without wind chill the actual temperature read six degrees this morning at 8 O’clock.

The weather guru has advised staying inside. Preferably with a warm blanket, a good book, and a cup of tea.

This morning I made it out of the house, grumbling about the temperature, to attend a small group gathering at my parish for folks who bring communion to the homebound or hospitals. We meet monthly to talk about a book we are reading together and to pray and share about our ministry with those whom we serve.

As we sat in the meeting room with the almost floor to ceiling windows in front of us, I watched as a plethora of birds played among the compact shrubs and evergreens that form a cloister around a concrete statue of our friend from Assisi. The backdrop served as both shelter and food source as the blue jay, chickadee, and cardinal picked at berries from the tree and hide-and-seeking in the branches before taking flight.

Sitting at my kitchen window this afternoon I notice that the dozen or so trees I planted this summer are still immature and don’t provide much by way of either shelter or nutrition for winged life.

Oh, and it’s Lent.  Otherwise known as a time of barrenness and a 40-day clearing center for purging spiritual clutter.

My own understory feels a bit sparse, even spare, and maybe even a little restless?

Before I beat myself up over the trees immature height and inability to provide more cover and hospitality from the winterberry tree, I say, thank you. Thank you for what is. Thank you for the open space that enables the sun to hit the snow just right and create a sequins-like sparkle where the white is still pristine enough and uncovered by paw prints and squirrel and rabbit tracks.

The book I’m reading this Lent reminds me to be merciful towards others and to recall God’s mercy towards myself.  Not a bad reminder during this year of mercy.

Thank you to God for being with me right where I am. For the stillness and quiet of Lent I am grateful.

For my understory—of God walking with me and growing in me—I am grateful.