Two days ago I experienced something very special. Peculiar may be a better word for it. I went for a walk. It was minus whatever outside, snow covered the fields, the sky was blue, there was a breeze playing in my hair that wasn’t hidden under a wool hat. The sun was shining. When one emerges from the dark season, with only a few hours of daylight a day, and that light often missing the sun, seeing the sun on the sky is as welcome as a paycheck. Almost. But the feeling I had that day was even more unusual. I felt the warmth of the sun on my frozen cheeks. I am not kidding. It warmed.
See, during the winter the earth, or should I say Norway, has removed itself so far from the sun that we cannot feel it’s warmth. We just see it and it looks like a huge egg-yolk that spends most of its time in the fridge. The other day I was reminded that the sun is warm. It felt so great, I went home and told my kids and Steve about it. I felt the sun’s warmth today, I said. They all smiled and said they had felt it too. It was a particularly happy day in our house.
I thought about this: When life is rough and tough and sucks (bad word alert, bad word alert) and it feels like the darkest of all winter nights, then the sun is still shining. And when it feels like the sun (Which is a picture of God or of what is good in the world if you don’t believe in God) has lost all its warmth, it hasn’t. It’s just that we have moved a bit too far away from it to feel it. And when we get closer to the sun (God. I like to compare it to God the most. I am biased.) we will again feel that it is warm and it does warm up our cold hearts and it will melt the snow and ice all around us, making things grow and the birds make their nests for the baby birds.
So, on Valentine’s day, the most romantic of all days, I want to say this: Move closer to the sun. Then watch as the red hearts start flying all around you.