Oh, what a welcome respite the recent “snow day” was for some. Particularly the ones whose days are hustle and bustle. Whose commutes are honking and merging. Who arrive home each evening exhausted from the effort put forth in the day just filed in the “done” column.
I know and love such a one. She enjoyed this day in her quiet spot, watching the silence and breathing in the stillness. She even took a moment to think of me and snapped me a photo to share the moment’s peace.
How do we see the stillness? Is it the same as hearing the silence?
Stillness is absence of movement. How can I know what isn’t?
Silence is absence of sound. How can I know what isn’t?
Funny how a snapshot stops, for a moment, the flicker of flame and the flutter of snow. I know they are moving. How? By the bend of the light. Its reaching and grasping for air. By the blur in the distance, briefly obscured by the wet lattice of flakes.
I know the movement by the evidence of it’s presence. It lets me see it, teases me to hear it. It calls me to see and to hear with senses different from those I usually trust.
Stops me to hear…“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
he lifts his voice, the earth melts.” ~ Psalm 46: 4-6
Though nations roar and kingdoms crash, there is a place that is Holy. Can we see it? Can we hear it?