Throughstone #13: Holding Onto the Light in the Darkest of Days
Dec 04, 2025
There’s something inherently meditative about plowing snow with a tractor bucket, having the fresh whiteness build, curl, and, in slow motion, peel off to the sides, laying bare a flat Tabula rasa for the next hikers headed up Haystack Mountain. Luna flanked me in my back and forth pushing and dumping, poking her black nose into the pockets of deep meadow grasses in hopes of stirring a vole.
Eventually, we made it to the barn, where I grabbed a round bale and headed to the pasture. Turning off the tractor–which always turns on the silence–I jumped down to roll out the tightly compressed interior of the bale. Once the summer’s harvest was laid flat again, I looked up.
The gaping hole in the sky was a reminder of Dad’s birthday, and I began wondering what he would say about these tumultuous times. Riding home, I failed to channel the words. Instead, I remembered the stories. He ministered more than he preached.
He helped organize the first integrated worship service in our conservative Southern town; he washed the ebony feet of another minister in front of a congregation; he picked up the drunk wandering in the cemetery at night and took him home; he sat quietly and held the hands of grieving widows, mothers, husbands; he helped pull teens and adults out of addiction. He absorbed stories never to be retold. He spent his days guiding from behind, with a rudder plunged in darkness, so that others could find their Light.
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Thoughts?? Your wisdom is appreciated in the "COMMENTS" box below!
“Throughstone 250” is a purposefully constrained blog project. As a long-winded Southerner constrained by Vermont’s limited porch season and the Yankee penchant for paragraphs of three words or less, I’ve opted to aim for semi-daily reflections of precisely 250 words for the foreseeable future.
250 means something right now. Maybe more than we anticipated. It’s symbolic but incredibly important…and a 250 word count seems much less constrained than a 5-7-5 syllable count for a haiku.
Like many others, I’m struggling to make meaning out of these tumultuous days. I’ve always found it useful to try and write my way out of tough spots. Looking for throughstones is just one more effort to try and generate some meaning from the mayhem.
More free-ranging rambles here, if you’re so inclined: https://www.freerangeprof.com/blog
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