[SB] Sabbath Blessing

[Molly Wolf]

Normal

On Friday, opening the door to bring in the morning paper, I found myself 
looking out on whiteness. It had snowed. Not terribly seriously -- only a 
couple-three inches -- but enough to stick. Not enough to have to plow out 
the driveway, but enough to have to clear off the car.

Every year when this happens, this first significant snow, I have a deep 
sense of relief. We're back to something reassuringly familiar. There's a 
sense of settling back into normal, and that brings an odd 
backward  comfort. I find myself automatically adjusting my driving habits 
and the way I walk -- in winter, both require greater attentiveness and 
caution.  My boots feel like old friends whom I haven't seen since April, 
although I remember being very glad to see the last of them, back then.

It's not even that winter is all that long here; it usually lasts about 
five months, not even half the year -- unlike the true North, where it 
really is the normal state of affairs. Where I live, the lakes make winter 
mild and damp instead of clear and bitter, as the Prairies feel it. But 
winter is one fundamental fact of being Canadian, the way we see ourselves 
and the way we're seen by others.  There's a sort of  subtle Canadian pride 
in it; anybody can manage summer, but there's something admirably austere 
about doing real winter. (This is, of course, a bit self-serving, as some 
of us can't handle heat at all well. Me, I'd much rather freeze than swelter.)

Winter always reminds me of self-sufficiency.  There's that same sense of 
competent coping in the face of conditions that some people might find 
trying.  I can do this all by myself, thank you. I can be independent.  I 
can handle the load without any help.  I like my privacy. And yes, 
self-sufficiency is good in its way; it's certainly safer than asking 
others for help -- how many of us have learned that one the very hard way? 
I know who I can trust to get the job done, and it's me.

But is it? My winter self-sufficiency depends very heavily on the guys who 
run the snowplows and the salt trucks. It depends on the people who provide 
my house with running water and electricity and natural gas, and on the 
well-bundled trash collectors.  I could get by without my car, but not 
easily or pleasantly, which means I need the people who run the gas/petrol 
pumps.  I need all those who make sure the supermarkets are well stocked, 
and that's a huge network right there. And these are just the *strangers* I 
need.

I know that in the real North, the North where winter is formidable indeed, 
people don't live in isolation. You couldn't survive, not for any length of 
time. People live in small, very close-knit communities. Privacy is a 
luxury peculiar to those who don't always realize how heavily they rely on 
people whose names they'll never know.

We buy our sense of self-sufficiency at a cost, and that cost is 
self-honesty. No matter what we think, we are embedded in a matrix of 
interdependence, like it or not. The question is whether we're conscious of 
it, and grateful for it. Why is this so hard?

Pride, as always; it's so much more ego-fluffing to feel independent than 
it is to admit that we really aren't running the whole show. Show me the 
self-made man, the woman who got where she is on her own efforts only, and 
I'll show you someone who's sacrificed honesty on the altar of self-esteem.

But there's another big one: fear. If I rely on others, I'm vulnerable to 
them; they can withdraw their help and leave me in trouble.  What happens 
if they go on strike? What happens if they let me down? How self-sufficient 
will I really be then? Could I really manage winter, in that case? Not really.

If I depend on others, won't they want to depend on me in return? Can I 
manage that? Do I have the resources, the courage, the strength, the love? 
Or do I really want to take and take without giving in return? How long can 
that last, before they give up on me and walk away?

And there's the deeper fear. If I let myself love, how badly will I get 
hurt? If I put my deep trust in another human being, won't that person 
inevitably betray me?  Can I trust another person to see me as I really am, 
wounds and all, with warmth and acceptance? There are reasons for a healthy 
independence; there are reasons why people isolate themselves.

If we claim to be wholly independent, we're telling ourselves lies, for we 
do need each other. It's hard to admit that, in a culture that praises 
self-sufficiency and sees interdependence as a weakness. It's hard to put 
down the pride and reach past the fear. But we have to, because otherwise, 
we have no access to the love of God that comes to us with the warm human 
skin on.

By Saturday noon, the snow was almost completely gone. It's still early for 
real winter, especially after such a mild and open fall. Never mind. There 
will be more.



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I'm about to hit some sacred cows, and they moo so badly. -- Phyllis 
Tickle, aka The Divine Miz T.