Divine Grace
When my brother and I stepped outside, completely outfitted in our winter-proof gear, my car had already been re-covered with several inches of snow. I had arrived perhaps twenty minutes prior, but the evening’s blizzard was deceivingly relentless. Looking about in the dim street-lit evening, one wouldn’t notice the fine slippery particles of snow perpetually filling the air… not unless specific care was taken to look closely at the triangles of light under the street lanterns, or if one were to turn their face upwards and towards the breeze.
On the last night of my brother’s stay in town, before returning south after the holidays, we decided to fill the flask with brandy, get suited up, and venture out into the transformed winter landscape. A fresh breath of isolation; a final taste of home before returning to the hot city for one of us, and a "welcome to the dead season" introductory celebration for the other. I stepped into my skis and pushed myself into the snow covered road, gazing about, waiting for my brother to do the same. Deer darted across the street in front of me, and into an abandoned yard. This time of year the several block neighborhood that consists of the old downtown is entirely deserted, aside from the one light twinkling in my year-round parents home, so the deer make themselves comfortable.
My brother and I set out at last, under the still-enchanting, yet still-familiar lights of the town… we slid silently along, down the center of the street, towards the hungry black hole… the place where the lights end, the road turns to shit, and the swamp begins. The old childhood playground. Once the street lights had passed, and all that was left for light was the brilliantly surreal glow of the snow, I was finally able to relax. We cut left into the woods, and blazed a trail through the oppressed under-growth until we came to the pond and had our first stop. The pond water, never quite frozen due to the rusty gushing pipe at one end, reflected cold colors. Shades of slate, and auburn, and sickly blue. The colors in the small body of water leapt out at me, sharply, contrasting the fuzzy white softness of the rest of the world. We passed the flask, shared a few moments of laughter, and set out through the woods again. The beach was our next destination.
It’s difficult to describe the impression such a large body of water can have on someone who is moving towards it in the dark, but not with any certainty of how far away it is, or exactly what to expect upon arrival… but all of a sudden distant lights could be seen through the trees, and within a moment the forest opened up and the sharp colors of cold night water were assaulting my senses once again, only this time they were significantly more acute due to the lake’s enormous panoramic view. Far across the bay I could see the twinkling lights of Petoskey, the falling snow and wind having subsided completely. The beach landscape was barren and dark, lined with buried summer homes. The dark skeletal shapes of these houses barely stood out against the evening, save one far far away that had a timer light on in it’s upper bedroom. These houses stood, their rear halves twisted and engulfed by the forest, and their barely discernable front halves spilling cold and drifting snow across their yards and into the vast body of water. The stars were absent, and in their place was a thick and ill colored cloud cover.
We went south along the beach, back towards Harbor Point, and stopped off for our second break in the yard of an exquisite summer home. We tore a path through the deep unblemished snow, and made ourselves at home in their gazebo, trespassing and stealing the magnificent view that it provided. We lingered there for quite a while, completely warm in our thorough garb, and set out once again with the simple mission of cutting through someone’s yard and making it back to the street. A simple mission which proved to be deliciously difficult… cliffs here, and fences there, and soon enough we were forced to take an awkward path between two houses, down the bowl of an empty swimming pool, across someone else’s wide wrap-around porch, finally finding ourselves bottle necked, with perhaps a forty foot near vertical slope to deal with. Beyond the slope lay the road, and easy access to finding our way home. Now… were we wise men, or in the presence of ladies, we would have taken off our skis and carried them down, but two brothers alone in the wilderness tend to forsake such prudence, and test one another’s agility instead, worse case scenario being a very laughable matter..
My brother went first, hot shot that he is, and did about what I expected. Stayed on his feet for about half of the decline, then panicked as he increased speed, and sabotaged his own progress in order to avoid a less predictable crash. He toppled over half way down the hill, and rode a giant white cloud of snow gracelessly to the bottom. Needless to say, I immediately fell over as well… in a laughter of course, and then it was my turn to tackle the undesired rush. I set out not to make the same mistake that my brother did and gazed down at the barely visible terrain in front of me. I took a moment to relax; the grip on my poles softened, my knees sunk a bit, and my mind emptied itself of concern. I took a lazy half breath and carelessly -threw- myself over the crest of the drop. Self-sabotage was not an option I left for myself, and I fully expected to meet the most humorous and unexpected crash of all time at the bottom… but instead I accelerated to troubling speeds, absorbed the bottom of the drop with my relaxed knees, flew past my brother and across the street, and came to a slow stop.
I was spared a humiliating fall by divine grace alone, and have since been contemplating the concept. I see grace as having two forms; "controlled" and "divine." Controlled grace is the perpetual embodiment of the effort involved in keeping oneself out of situations that would compromise one’s pride. Divine grace is the shameless and utter submission, without hesitation, to the whims of whatever unlikeable situation that may present itself. I only find the true absence of grace in between the two, in the gray areas of hesitation and compromise. Much like my brother’s moment of hesitation half way down the hill, people will often enter graceless situations half-ass, or through perpetual second guessing, rather than simply avoiding the situation all together, or diving completely into it. I find the latter form of grace much more suitable to men, and the former to women, and I suppose I would characterize each under my gender standards. An independent man will often have to deal with graceless situations, with no choice but to face them alone, and should, in my opinion, embrace them wholly and fearlessly in order to fully reserve his pride, and have the honor of calling himself a man.