Snow Day

We had a white Christmas, my family and I. Not the kind you normally think of, though. We didn't skip through the snow while Christmas shopping or sit and watch the flakes drift lazily from the sky. It rather snuck up on us (though we had heard it was coming). It fell in the night, greeting us the next morning, blanketing the trees and the houses and the ground, until all were just lumpy, white silhouettes.

Snow usually does something for my soul.

A little over a year ago, I sat on my bed, home alone, and watched tiny snowflakes drift to the ground, and my heart was stilled. There weren't many flakes, and I knew it was too warm for them to survive their journey down, but something about those daring flakes refreshed my soul. I didn't quite know why. There really wasn't an explanation. I think perhaps it was the hope of a blanket of white. Perhaps the hope that all would be covered and clean. I had been living in an uneasy spell. The kind where I would rest my head at night feeling distant and disconnected. That day, the snow made me think. It helped me sort through myself. It refreshed me.

When I looked out my window the day after Christmas, I didn't feel the refreshing. I was rather disappointed. But it still made me think.

Why didn't I feel the refreshing? I still love it. I love trees layered in brown and white. I love seeing no roads or sidewalks or driveways, only white. I love the cars and trucks and vans all wearing icy caps.  I love the world so quite and still and pure, but I didn't feel the stillness inside. I didn't feel the blanket of peace covering my heart with a clean quilt of calm. I think because I'm in one of those uneasy spells. So I told God. I told Him I need quieting, stilling, purifying, and refreshing. I asked for snow on my heart.

Last night, rather late, I got a message from a friend who had soul questions. I was tired, but I stayed up to text her; I wanted to help. I had no idea that God was using her to speak to me. The problem she had was the uneasiness, the restlessness, the knowing that something isn't right between her and God. The things I told her were the things God was telling me that second, things that I needed to hear just as much as she.

I told her that she would ache for a while from the pain in the past, but eventually she needed to simply accept that as part of her story and move forward.

How hypocritical am I! I've had such a hard time stitching my past into my story. I fear I've been keeping it raw, dangling me in front of me throbbing and dripping with pain. My reason is rather silly. It' s not because I feel angry or bitter. It's because I want to hold onto the hurt. I want to hold onto it because I want to need people.

Ridiculous isn't it? That I should keeping ripping open my pain so I may keep on hurting. It makes no sense. But I want to need people. I want people to keep asking questions and keep offering comfort and keep caring. What if they leave as soon as I'm done hurting?

I don't feel that way about everyone. I have solid oak friendships that I know will remain no matter what happens. But there are a few frail ones, too. Some little seedling friendships that don't have strong roots. I'm so afraid they'll blow away at the first calm breeze.

It's all backwards, isn't it? Most people probably fear relationships will topple in a storm. I think I'm different because I so want to feel needed and wanted. I want to be special to people. I want to be someone to them only I could ever be.

I think that's why I've been uneasy. I think that's why the snow didn't calm my heart.
It's time to let go, Moriah.

How wonderful that the God who created the heavens and earth cares enough to make me restless until all between us is well!