I don't know why this winter isn't wearing on me as much as winter normally does. Typically I face the Lion in on the first of March with a snarl and a growl of my own. I won't take any more of his shenanigans.

But not this year. Not sure why.

Because it would make sense that this year would be the epitome of disappointment: I'm still here, for one. I thought I'd be in grad school, or married, or editing some non-profit publication, or even spoon-feeding orphans in India by now. I really, really thought that. I also spent half of this winter with mono, that has to count for something. I also miss my friends so much sometimes that I think that God really, really doesn't mean for us to ever repeat the same goodness twice. I also have cold feet right now. These things add up to a hunk of disappointment and disappointment for me usually comes out in some sort of revolution against the weather.

What can I say, I'm passive aggressive like that.

But I don't feel it. I mean, those things are true, but they don't feel disappointing to me today. And sometimes I feel guilty about that. I've got problems. I feel guilty for not feeling badly.

Last night during a very long phone conversation with a good chum, the conversation turned to the Israelites and manna. I told him to blog about it. I told him at the very least to email me every single good thought so I could remember it for real. Especially since I was driving while talking on my cell, which is illegal in New York and it would be even more unwise to drive, talk on my cell, and jot thoughts down. Unwise and illegal.

But he said something that I won't easily forget: manna means "What is it?" but it still sustained them for forty years. This nameless, flake of edible dust, this daily rain, daily bread, sustained them.

I say to him when he's finished his passionate sermon to one, that this is what I needed to hear. This is my manna season.

Because I look at the state of things right now and I think "What am I doing? What is sustaining me? What is this?"

Not knowing that I'm answering my question with my question. That is the answer: What is it? Somehow that sustains, somehow that feeds, somehow that fills.

So it is the winter or the wilderness or just the wandering season--but it is somehow the thing through which we walk, fed by our questions.

So take that, Winter.