Eighth graders at my former middle school were asked to memorize Robert Frost’s poem “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” in English class. To be honest, I wondered why. Why was this poem required instead of Frost’s popular, oft-quoted “The Road Not Taken”? However, I didn’t create the syllabus, so I held my question and helped my students learn the sixteen-line poem.
“Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.”
Tonight I’m at the hospital, sitting beside the bed on which my 86-year-old mother rests. This feels like an appropriate setting for writing my last essay of 2020. I’ve heard this year described as a “dumpster fire,” and at times it has certainly felt like it. Unexpected, terrifying, out of control, fill-in-the-blank.
As the machines surrounding us beep with rhythmic certainty, my nervous system is kept on high alert. Deep breath in, deep breath out, I focus attention on my mother’s rising and falling chest and my own heart, which feels positioned on the starting block of a race. I’m just waiting for the starter pistol to sound. Deep breath in, deep breath out.
“My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.”
Recently I listened to a podcast with Alan Falding, author of An Unhurried Life, and was captivated when Falding described living at the pace of grace, which is living right now.
This present moment is where grace is found.
Not in reminiscing about the uncertainty and unrest of past nine months; not in worrying about the next few days spent caring for my ailing mother; not in wondering about what the new year might hold.
It’s found right here, right now. In this moment, there is grace.
What if I give myself to this idea as I sit beside this hospital bed? Deep breath in, deep breath out.
What if I give myself to this idea as I mark the arrival of the new year? Deep breath in, deep breath out.
What if I give myself to this idea when I wake on January 1? “This present moment is where grace is found.” Deep breath in, deep breath out.
“He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.”
As I step out of the hospital after making sure my mom is comfortable for the night, I pause in the vacant roundabout to look up at the inky sky. Tonight promises the appearance of the Christmas star, as the planets Jupiter and Saturn align for the first time in 800 years. I scan the heavens, breathing in the fresh, cold December air—deep breath in, deep breath out. There is no star that I can see, but there is grace.
There is grace in standing outside on this chilly winter night, exhausted from a very long day.
There is grace in searching a dark sky, hoping for a glimpse of once-in-a-lifetime celestial spectacle.
There is grace in the silence surrounding me, the steam from my hot breath meeting the cold air, and the sense of being seen, loved, and held in this moment by God.
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.”
Like the sojourner traveling home from his long journey, I pause to look around in wonder, to notice the goodness, beauty, and peace of this moment, and to rest for a bit before moving on.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
There is grace.
Weekly Editor
Susan Tucker is a lifelong lover of story, and with curiosity and openness, she often explores in her writing the tension that life holds. A former English teacher, Susan loves meaningful use of language, especially when used to stir the soul and whet one’s appetite for more truth, goodness, and beauty. Susan and Tim, her husband of 26 years, are adapting to an empty nest since both of their sons are now away attending college.nbsp
Beautiful. This is one of my all time favorite poems – the quiet hush of snowy woods reminds me of so many instances in my life living in Michigan – when winter blankets the earth and all is still, silent, hushed, peaceful. Similar to being under water. A peaceful, muffled silence. And sparkling beauty to behold. Snow blanketing the ground, the trees, the fence posts. We had that kind of snowfall last night in Michigan. We are wearing a beautiful, peaceful, white winter blanket this morning. You are such an eloquent writer and so easy to read. I love how you interspersed the poem within your essay. .A blessed 2021 to you, Susan.
Barbara, thank you. Your description of your snowy morning in Michigan sounds lovely and “Frost-like.” I’m glad that my post reminded you of this favorite poem on this wintery day. Happy 2021 to you too.
Dear Susan, I hope that your mother is out of the hospital and doing well. How wonderful that you could be with her during Covid. I felt the quiet all the way into my heart. I loved the reminder that grace is only in each breath we take. Nothing before or later. I loved being with you next to your mother and on the round about as you were leaving the hospital. That you for inviting me into your grace-filled moments.
Becky, thank you for being with me in these spaces. Thankfully Mom is home after a brief hospital stay and seems to be returning to herself. She has broken out her new puzzle and is hard at work on it, which is a good sign! I’m so very grateful that she and Dad live just down the street so that we have been able to see them during COVID, and yes, so very thankful I was able to be with her in the hospital. I cannot imagine how she would have coped had I not. May the new year hold many grace-filled moments for you…much love!
Of the myriad of writings read this year, this is my first to have a written response. I felt deeply His grace this year and have been parceling it out for the benefit of others. I’ve realized I do this because I feel this is how God gives grace to me. As I learn more about His grace-giving, I want to be a better recipient. I want to focus on receiving and let Him be the perfect giver.
Sharon, I feel very honored by your response. Thank you. I love how you have been keenly aware of grace this year and generously giving grace to others this year. How truly special at anytime, but it seems especially exceptionally special during this year when there has been a desperate need for grace-giving. May you continue to be aware of God’s grace in the new year and receive it with open hands and an open heart. Happy new year!
Susan…I hope your mom is doing OK.
Your words are so beautiful and brought a deep feeling of peace to me. Reading this helped me to pause and breathe. Thank you.
Jen, thank you…Mom is home and recovery well from her hospitalization. I’m grateful. I’m also grateful my words brought you an experience of peace. Pause and breathe…these are good words, and I’m practicing them right now, as I give thanks for you and your kind reply. Happy new year!