Winter Silence: Tuesday's Reflection

Finally, snow. 

Sunday night it snowed. Now, along with the bare branches, the birds at the feeders, and the dirty cars parked along the street, a glimpse outside says clearly, "Winter." 

With snow comes a certain silence. Unlike rain and wind, snow is silent, and its appearance can be a morning surprise. This forecast was clear, however. Snow and blistering cold temperatures for most of the week. Get thee to the grocery store! I wasn't the only one anticipating indoor days. The aisles were packed with loaded carts, many shelves were bare, especially in the snack food and soup aisles, and the check-out lines were long. As we waited our turns, we hardy Minnesotans talked, laughed at our willingness to put up with these extreme winters. One woman said, "I just moved back from Florida. Silly me." I chuckled when I noticed a young couple, college age, I thought, with stunned expressions on their faces when they saw the store packed with shoppers. Did they not listen to the weather forecast or were they used to someone else maintaining full cupboards for any occasion? 

Later, driving home from the senior living facility where my father lives and where we had brought dinner to share with him, the snow   delicately floated in front of us. One of those romantic snowfalls-- as long as you had a warm home awaiting you. 

An early bedtime called. Quilts. Flannel pajamas and sheets. A good book. A gentle snow. The best kind of winter night. 

A few hours later I woke up, as my old body requires, and I walked to the windows to see if the snow had continued. Yes, and along with the snow a layer of silence had descended onto my urban world. I sat in the snug for a few minutes, wrapping myself in that silence. Not an empty silence. Not a silence begging for sound, but rather the silence of rest, of sleep, of surrender. The house and our street seemed tucked into a tender hideaway. No one moved. No sound broke the hush.

In a few hours more, the silence would be broken by snowplows thundering through the streets, snowblowers bleating, and snow shovels scraping. But for a brief time how good it was to sit in the silence, just till my toes curled from the cold. In this pause I gave  thanks for the warmth I experience in my life, and I knew in the gift of this silence God would surely hear my heart beating in gratitude. 

Amen. 

An Invitation
How has silence entered your life lately? I would love to know.