*Winter
ink drawing by Stan Piepenburg
Winter
Day 28 — March 8
My heart was wintering when several months ago I decided to donate Elizabeth’s coats—and some of my own—to a holiday coat drive. Now that the closet had some breathing room, I wondered what was tucked to the side and stored away in a large trash bag.
Inside was this ink drawing of a winter scene that Elizabeth and I had chosen together at an art fair, I’m not exactly sure when. But I was struck by how congruent it was with my emotions that day.
On his website, the Wisconsin artist describes his art: “My ink drawings capture the contours and contrast of our world using various colored inks. I try to capture the feeling of spaciousness and serenity while illustrating the simplicity of our world that many of us take for granted.”
He reminds me that there is a place of beauty in the starkness of winter, when life and hope seem far away.
A hymn that I have become familiar with just this year expresses in its opening line the emotions that I feel when encountering this winter drawing—Let my spirit always sing, though my heart be wintering.
LET MY SPIRIT ALWAYS SING
All Creation Sings, Hymn 1020
by Shirley Erena Murray
(video below to listen)
Let my spirit always sing,
though my heart be wintering,
though the season of despair
gave no sign that you are there,
God to whom my days belong,
let there always be a song.
Though my body be confined,
let your word engage my mind,
let the inner eye discern
how much more there is to learn,
see a world becoming whole
through the window of the soul.
Let your wisdom grace my years,
choose my words and chase my fears,
give me wit to welcome change,
to accept, and not estrange,
let my joy be full and deep
in the knowledge that I keep.
Let my spirit always sing,
to your Spirit answering,
through the silence, through the pain
know my hope is not in vain,
like a feather on your breath
trust your love, through life and death.
Words © 1996 Hope Publishing Company
Day 28: the art of love and loss
view all posts at kentmueller.com
February 10, 2020, was the day my wife, Elizabeth Izant, entered the hospital. She and I were on a hopeful journey following her heart transplant five months prior. On March 1, she entered hospice and died March 11. This series is not about her medical journey. This is about sharing stories and reflections about our life together. In our 29 years of marriage, we collected a piece of art or two each year, often in celebration of our marriage anniversary. Each day from February 10 to March 11, I will be sharing an image of that art. And a story.