"Stop, Drop and Roll" would be the title of my autobiography were I to pen it just now. Subtitle would be "Learning to Bounce."

No, I am not appropriating that first wise adage to describe any necessity for unlighting my fire, so to speak, nor the second to announce my participation in a new sport, but rather I use both to explain that I surely have fallen from grace – um, I mean fallen without grace -- a lot this year. Well, twice. But that seems like a lot.

I don't (knock on wood) fall in Elkhart; haven't fallen in years (where did I put the table salt?). So it must be something about Muncie – the slippery places are slipperier, I think. But so are the beautiful places more beautiful. Picture this: ice coated gray-black branches shimmering like diamonds against a dazzling cerulean sky; the sun, stunning in its winter splendor, warming your flushed face; clean, virgin snow, soft and wet beneath your back, your legs, your head… Like that.

I am not particularly a fan of winter. I far prefer the gentle caress of scented breeze on bare arm to the rude slap of freezing gale on bare face. I like grabbing my shoes and running out the door without thought of boots, coat, hat, scarf and mittens. I like being able to bend my elbows and knees unencumbered by layers of sweaters and "thermal, duofold, moisture-wicking, ultra-light, cold-weather must-haves."

But, and I will deny I ever said this, there is something about winter, some sense of aliveness once you finally venture out from under the covers, that just doesn't exist in the same way in any other season. There is more of a sense of being alone on barren plains when you stand under a cold winter moon, of being small in the face of a magnificent universe, of being equal part and parcel of the great divine mystery that is life.

Even so, I, with earnest intent, will the hastening of spring with all of its chirpings and sproutings and wherein I shall more successfully remain upright. It is, I am told, just around the corner.

- Beth Lefever, Student Minister