Juggler of words and children…collector of pottery shards
There is great comfort in the stillness of Creation, the permanence and peace of it all. Sometimes, I steal away to my porch swing or the chair by the back window as the sun paints the morning in a watery gray light with a cup of coffee in my hand. I stop to gaze out at the trees, beautiful and barren in the winter chill, their branches like works of art stretched to the heavens, and my heart is struck silent by the holiness of it all. Then, I think -“This has been here waiting for me all along- waiting while I wrestled with my world, waiting while I tried to be brave and productive and good. Waiting while I drug around my broken heart, painting over grief with a smile.”
But God is in the stillness of Creation, and He always calls to the broken hearted- “Come. Be still.”
And then, there is nothing to hide. Defenses are stripped bear as voice of God speaks silently in the frost, the wood, the branches of the pine. At last, tears fall, prayers are whispered, and hope is found once again as I am reminded that He not only formed all I see, but he walked it as well when he folded up the power of the universe to wrap it in humanity. They called him a man of sorrows. They said he was aquainted with grief. (Isaiah 53:3) His incarnation was an act of humility driven by his love for us.
And He still bends low to comfort me, speaking in the stillness of Creation.