There are seasons in life, and seasons in nature. If we don not flow free from season to season, we are out of step with the dance of life. If we are in the fall yet, spending that season wishing for the summer, we may miss the life that is there to be lived. That said, some seasons are more difficult to sustain. Especially the winter, for we weather the snow, the rain, the wind, and most of all the lack of sunlight. The winter can bring with it a natural depression. Our ancestors knew this. They knew the only real way to have the sunlight in the winter, was the warmth of loved ones and friends. They would gather by the fire, tell stories, remember and honor those past. On this winter day, I want to honor the memory of a dear friend, Mario Quintero, from Mankato Minnesota, whom recently past. Mario was a young man who altruistically devoted his life for the betterment of the less fortunate. During the cold Minnesota winters, Mario would organize gatherings, conferences, and celebrations. After being with him, I found it impossible to tell him no anytime he called upon me. I felt that Mario was the way of God telling those around him that He has not forgotten them. I was told that as Mario left this world, he told his wife, “I have to go, do you drive or do I? No I have to drive.” These were the last words he spoke. That was the end of his season, but not of his light.

In this day of technology and easy entertainment, we can become unaware of the beauty of life. On Thursday nights in my home, my wife Theresa has made a special day. We light candles, and the fire. Theresa usually bakes bread, and a special feast. My children Emily and Alex sit by the fire and tell stories. Emily at two, is already an enthralling storyteller. She tells stories of ghosts and throws her arms up when she says the word “ghosts” as if to add special effects. My son Alex is a romantic, telling stories of the beautiful Estephani who is rescued by a knight with a sword. Alex is four and Estephani, also four, a preschool playmate. No matter what their story is, it is their own. Imagination and fantasy. If you don’t use them, you loose them. After the stories, we gather to eat and enjoy our time together.

It is good to try to put a little celebration into everyday. This afternoon as our children took their naps; Theresa and I stole the afternoon on our bed with olives and wine. And she poured her heart out reading me poems of Longfellow. This is a repeat of many winter afternoons we have spent in this way. Maybe it was the wine, but I found it hard to contain the tears. Longfellow, who has been dead for over a hundred years became alive, reaffirming the principal that love outlives the body. And I feel that my wife loves me with unchanging love, even as my seasons change. And I love her with the same love. The pictures we see of ourselves remind us, of the way we use to look. Marks on the road of our life together. And as I look at her now, I know that even when all my seasons have past, this love will transcend time. Those who have given their love have lived in the beauty of their seasons. It is easy in this time, of television to forget what is your story. And even if we forget, children are a vast resource to rekindle the light of our imagination, for they still know what their story is. The message of today’s commercial society tells us, “you are only beautiful if your anorexic or on steroids”, “ If you are not wealthy, you cannot be happy.” This makes it difficult to know, what is our story. What will actually give us joy. Sometimes we do not spend enough time with these questions, because we are given the easy answer to what will make us happy, with the flick of the remote. Our challenge is to turn on our imagination, our fantasy, our joy and find out what gives us warmth in our winter. For it is easy to kill time, but the real challenge is to live in our time and at the end to defeat time with our love.