Field Notes of a Wanderer

Dear Wanderer,

Today, I ventured out into the wild hum of the season. The roads were a labyrinth of impatience, the air thick with the urgency of unchecked to-do lists. The world seemed to be moving faster than the winter wind, every soul chasing a vision of Christmas wrapped in paper and bows.

And yet, as the car horns echoed and the neon lights flashed their relentless rhythm, I found myself yearning for stillness. I thought of the hawk I saw this morning, perched on a bare sycamore branch, its silhouette calm against the pale December sky. I thought of the sparrow’s quiet hymn outside my window, a gentle melody unbothered by the noise of the world.

What is it we are truly chasing? The gifts under the tree will be unwrapped and forgotten in a day, but the gifts around us—the ones given without a price tag—are eternal. The morning greets us with the song of birds, a chorus of praise woven into the dawn. The sun writes poetry in the sky, its warmth a tender caress even in winter’s chill. And as the day bows to night, the stars remind us of wonder, a silent choir proclaiming God’s glory in the heavens.

This season, the winter solstice invites us to pause, to honor the light that still burns even in the longest night. Christmas is not a race; it is a rhythm, a sacred reminder of the gift already given—a world that speaks of its Creator in every sunrise and snowflake, in every rustling tree and whispering wind.

So let us not get lost in the rush. Let us breathe deeply, stepping outside to feel the earth beneath our feet. Let us look up, letting the sky remind us of who we are: wanderers on a holy path, surrounded by grace.

May we remember that Christmas is not about what we gather beneath the tree, but about what we carry in our hearts—a love that reflects the Creator’s glory and finds joy in the simplest gifts of creation.

Step outside. Listen. The earth is singing the song of the season.

Chrysi

©️ 2024 Christina Whalen