Spirit Matters: There is no contest with the great I am

The view outside my window this morning is stark.

Gray skies and barren trees betray a sense of utter emptiness and abandonment. Even the empty birdfeeders sway from the branches in solitude.

And there is a chill in the air.

Inside, a small rustic lantern warms scented lavender wax, and the lamp on our desk provides a bit of light for me while my dog, Zeke, snores softly on his pillow behind me.

Although the calendar says we still have a month to go, we are beginning our long descent into winter, literally and metaphorically.

Unlike the majority of people, I suspect, I usually look forward to winter. Like each of the other seasons, winter has its place and its purpose in the whole circle of life.

It is a time for slowing down, quieting down and listening.

Winter draws us into deep rest. And it is in our best interest to comply.

Like all of creation outside with its instinct for hibernation, our bodies, minds and souls need this time to regenerate and to prepare for spring when it arrives again.

And it will arrive again. It always does.

Winter challenges us to recognize our own barrenness and invites us to sit quietly before the proverbial hearth, focused on the flame that burns steadily and warms us from the inside out.

Many years ago, while on vacation with some family members, I sat before a fireplace in a small but cozy Best Western in Vail, Colorado.

I was utterly spent and had nothing left to give, as we had just navigated the Rocky Mountain roads in a heavy blizzard. Sitting in the back seat and clutching my rosary, I called on all the angels and saints I knew to get us to safety.

While the rest of the family went to our room, I sat in silent solitude before the sparking flame. In those moments, I needed that space like I need the air I breathe.

Sitting still and gazing at the flame, no words would come. Nevertheless, my heart was communing in deep prayer with the ground of all being in a way I cannot begin to explain.

After a few moments, I remembered when God appeared to Moses in the form of a bush on fire. God gave Moses instructions on how he was to save the Israelites from slavery to the Egyptians, and promised Moses he would be with him the entire time. Then Moses asked God his name.

“God replied to Moses: I am who I am. Then he added: This is what you will tell the Israelites: I am has sent me to you. ... This is my name forever; this is my title for all generations,” Exodus 3:14, 15.

When I reflect on God calling himself “I am,” there is no other way to respond but with pure awe. God is absolute being, and God’s breadth and depth is far bigger than the labels we try to attach to God. This is the origin and sustainer of the universe, after all. God’s I am-ness is a mystery we will never fully understand.

And yet, while sitting before that fireplace in a little mountain inn years ago, I appreciated to some degree what “I am” means – at least after what we had just been through.

There is no power in this world stronger than the I am that put us here. No ruler, no king, no government is so powerful that they can encounter the great I am and win.

And yet, at the same time, that I am – in the form of a flame in that little fireplace – draws itself to each of us with such intimacy and warmth that we hardly know how to handle it.

This winter – both the literal and metaphorical winter – draw close to the constant flame of the great I am in your heart.

Sit quietly and listen, and allow your heart to be warmed and formed by the most powerful force in the universe.

Love.

Only love.

SPIRIT MATTERS is a weekly column by Jerrilyn Zavada Novak that examines experiences common to the human spirit. Contact her at jzblue33@yahoo.com.