I’m working on a new habit. This feels like a major accomplishment at 43 years old, when I am tempted to settle into the grooves I’ve worn into my life. My cousin Angie talked me into it: Rach, you gotta try spending the first ten minutes of your day outside. She encouraged me to read more about how it could help calm my nervous system and lower cortisol levels. In the thick of never-ending December tasks and moments of stress, I decided to try it. 

So a week ago, I bundled my bleary-eyed, pajama-clad self into a coat and boots at 5:54 AM. I opened the porch door, glancing at the thermometer that taunted me with a -3 degree reading, and burrowed a little deeper into my hood. It was dark, so I followed the dog path to the east-facing maple, and, after realizing all the patio furniture was put away for the winter, gingerly sat down on our outdoor swing that stays up year-round. 

I took a deep breath and coughed as icy air caught in my lungs. It was the pre-dawn softening version of darkness, which was still… dark. The wind blew around my hood. I questioned what I was supposed to be getting out of this besides frostbite.

The owl’s hooting caught me off guard. It came from the grove of trees to the east, so I focused my attention there. It sounded again, warming the stillness. I sat up straighter, senses awake in a new way. The wind calmed. There was a faint light coloring the horizon. I heard a mouse rustling in the leaves mounded around the base of the maple tree. 

Everything else in me slowed. I forgot about my to-do list. I quit wishing for coffee. I sat in the dark, quietly listening to the natural world. Wonder, the sense we so often describe as child-like, stirred in my consciousness. What else would I hear? 

The stillness prompted me to pray, and I sat for the next while, focusing my attention on gratitude for God’s creation and needs for my family, friends, and community. God the Father felt intensely close; everything else had frozen in time. 

People talk a lot about wonder at Christmas. I think, deep down, we all remember a gift or a moment that felt so special it seemed, somehow, otherworldly or unreal. We couldn’t understand where it came from or how it happened. It was truly wonder-full.

Wonder kindles a deep sense of both recognition and longing for more. When I recognize that I am a created being, I acknowledge that there is more going on outside of this natural, everyday world. There is a spiritual reality that often gets lost in the day-to-day business, and that reality beckons to my soul. I hunger for a connection with God.

I wanted it so much, I decided to do it again, today on Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve feels like it’s defined by holiness, by waiting, by straining for the release of God’s promise and fulfillment in the world. It was the perfect backdrop for wonder.

When I went outside, I had no reservations as I stepped into the dark. The air held less of a bite at twenty degrees, and Button, our tabby kitten, joined me on the swing. I dipped easily into prayerful conversation with God, and then enjoyed the silent landscape stretching to the north; the snow-covered hay bales like sleeping giants, the frosted trees, the white expanse of open field. Stillness settled on my shoulders. A quiet joy crept in past the list of things to get done. After all, it was Christmas Eve.

Though I may not be getting much vitamin D, the renewed sense of anticipation and readiness as I step in the door and wake up the house follows me all morning. I have to Marco Polo my cousin later and tell her she was right. New habits are possible in the middle of life, and the promise of wonder and newness they bring connects us more deeply to the world around us.