Fallen snow invites us to enter into its silence. It makes no noise. It floats in frigid air until it finds its place on the cold earth. When it settles in its place on the ground, it waits. There is about it a contentment with being in the presence of the stillness. It is so content, it seeks nothing more. It does nothing to call attention to itself. It looks like a white canvas that contains what has not yet come and something not yet seen.
Is that not what it is to enter into the silence created by the very breath of the Holy Spirit? Too often we approach our dedicated time with God with what we seek from Him. We have brokenness which needs wholeness, emptiness which needs filling, and hope we need restored. There is within us an endless stream of petitions for the something more that seems to always be a part of our life. There are even those desperate moments when we take the brush in our own hands and dare to put on the empty canvas of our life what our impatience requires in the now.
The waiting snow invites us to see our own heart as the empty canvas waiting in the stillness for the Spirit to begin or continue His work of creating in us someone who has not yet come into existence. We are never who we see ourselves as being in the past, nor are we simply who we see ourselves being in the present, but instead, we are also who we cannot yet see ourselves as becoming. To enter in the stillness with a waiting spirit is to trust the Spirit to make visible the invisible, unseen, and not yet part of who we are becoming.
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