The Hush of Winter

So I had the rare gift of waking up before dawn this morning, and as I sat there, musing over my coffee, I realized that February is that most deep part of the winter.  I compared it in my mind to those camping trips where you wake up in the middle of the night freezing cold, and you grab your kid and bring them to bed with you because you realize they're shivering in their sleep.  The coldest part of the night is not right after the sun goes down, and I don't find that the coldest point is even before the sun comes up.  Rather, the coldest part of the night is in the middle of the night, when the sun's been down for a few hours and it won't be up for a few hours.  It's that hush before dawn and after twilight, and that's when it hit me.  It's the absolute stillness of death before the Resurrection.  Looking to the dawn of that first Easter I feel the stillness, as if all of nature holds its breath for the second time in history after the Fiat.  The stillness of death gives itself over to life.  I think this is what Lent is calling me to do.   In this season of stillness, I am called to become more still, more quiet, more reflective, to become smaller and smaller, to become less and less.  To reflect more upon my "pearl of great price" my Faith.  I don't know that this Lent is calling me to Sacrifice something per say, except myself.