Tuesday, December 14, 2004


Sometimes I feel just like an ice sculpture. I can be beautiful and transparent, and at the same time, cold and immovable. It's hard to remember when you are frozen solid that you are fearfully and wonderfully made. That the same potter who fashions the clay, is the Ice Scuplter who works through the cold to make you into something lovely.

Another midwestern winter. Michigan is frigid and gray, and my soul dies a little bit more each time I meet the season. I'm glad I'm getting older. That means there won't be as many Decembers in front of me as there are behind me, and I take comfort in that, although it frightens me at the same time.

I guess I'm wintering. My body is numb with sleep, grasping at fleeting dreams of bright yellow dandelions and grass green enough to take one's breath away. I dream of awakening, having endured the sweet torture of the Ice Sculpters instruments, chipping away at blocks of useless me to reveal the wonder of who who and what I am beneath solid water.

How Jesus loves us, even in the winter when the days are short and the sky too dark. How He hurts with us, His tears falling to the desolate, aching earth, touching cold, turning into soft, white snow, swirling about this rigid, see-through soul.

I love you, Jesus. In spite of myself.

Come quickly, Lord, Sun of my soul,
and bring the blinding light of Spring with You,
swallowing the dark,
melting the icy me,
water giving way to earth,
nourishing it,
then straining back to Sun,
like petals
color wonderful
and Your delight.

I'm awaiting your touch, Tender God of sun and snow
Your ragamuffin freeza


upwords said...


This is beautiful. :) Only you can make me feel the snow in my hand and then melt it with your words.

Standing in a puddle,

radioreb said...

No ice sculpture in Arizona. No grey snowy skies either. Arizona likes you more than Michigan does.


Larry said...

--->I'm awaiting your touch, Tender God of sun and snow

He'll do it, inside where the cold snow can't put out the fire. You can cuddle up to Him.

I used to have a terrible time with winter when I lived in Kansas. The cold just dragged on and on. Every spring I waited for the first sign of life returning, and my soul just shrivelled. I wanted to be outside, I wanted to smell the damp earth exploding with new growth, I wanted to see buds grow day by day and turn into new leaves.

Old winter snow is just tragic. Dirty, tired-looking. Winter-matted grass just looks defeated. Eventually the new growth comes in as God pours His warmth into our world.

California is more subtle. It's summer that seems too long here. Long, hot and bright, too bright for my eyes. I long for rain. And God provides that too, turning my desert into greenery.

bobbie said...

from one freeza to another i hear you sister! the sun finally showed it beautiful face today (still dang cold, but sunny) and it was salve to my greyed out soul.

you are beautiful and transparent diva one - but you are also hot and fiesty - no matter the weather. kiln or freezer it's a work that is being done and will keep getting on until that wonderful warm day - thanks for so many pictures, i love your words woman!

Donna J. Shepherd said...


Candy said...

Really beautiful, Claudia. Living in Texas I long for days of billowy white snow, but mainly because it melts and is gone before it gets ugly and old. I love the thought of the ice sculpture and the poem touched the depths of my soul. thank you.

Anonymous said...

"Oh, the winter of emotion
Sometimes steals into my head
It's the tundra of the shutdown
It's the burying the dead
And I'd like to make my springtime
But I have no real recourse
'Cept to wait on some long loving
From some deep and pure source..."

-Don Chaffer, "You Lay Me Down"