Even inside I can hear the quiet it brings,
muffling every sound,
smoothing off the sharp edges of daily life,
bring tranquility to the scenes outside my window.
Somehow the snow helps me to slow down a bit. My friend MaryJean describes snow as "God's invitation to pause." I think she's right, and I want to accept the invitation. I light a candle and watch through the window as ice crystals dance to earth across red shed and weathered gray barn board backdrop.
-the state budget (or lack thereof.)
-the unavailability of a jacket I thought I needed...now where will I find one before our trip?
-another presidential debate. (could somebody please at least act presidential?)
-the projected weather and how my projected plans will be affected. (School isn't the only thing that gets cancelled when the weather turns south. Errr, I mean north. Brrr.)
-rude words I recently heard directed at me seem to stick like lint...
Let it go, B, let it all go. Turn every bit loose to blow with the snow flakes.
Other floating anxieties, worries, fears are harder to toss. They are deeper, closer to my heart. I move them to a list for praying, my "holding up list."
-friends dealing with the big C's, cancer and chemo.
-relationship tangles near and far.
-my friend with a houseful of orphans and no water
-a short list of mourners who have lost their mothers recently. I.know.how.hard.that.is.
-a friend's struggle with drama, how she hates it yet creates it.
-on and on.
Half the stuff I can't list because...the stories aren't mine, yet somehow I pick up these heavy bits and haul them around with me day after day.
It takes awhile, sitting in deep silence, unpacking a lot of...stuff, but I gradually feel the peace of Jesus encroaching on each spot vacated by the piecemeal release of my collection into His care. I'm letting go. (Again.)
It's not that I don't care; it's that I am choosing not to carry. I'm putting these anxieties in better hands, off loading on One who has offered to carry all of it.
I sense a change as the volume of my inner radio is dialed back, notch by notch, and I breathe in the quiet.
This. How I've missed this quiet on the inside.
I've been too goal oriented lately; I've been doing too much multi-tasking; I've been moving too many directions too soon most mornings. Like a loose throttle on a lawn mower, my life speed has been inching up, faster, faster, faster.
The noise of life lived too fast has been overshadowing the whisper I want to hear more than any other.
Today the quietness of snowfall murmurs a reminder-
to listen to the silence,
to listen in the silence for the whisper of God.