The sky is falling! —in tiny pieces, white crystalline fragments, swirling down so densely they block my view of everything else. I can’t see either heaven or earth—even a few yards down the road. It’s a blizzard!
Sometimes it seems my life’s sky is falling. My spiritual eyes can’t see a bit of heaven—or even my next steps down the road. I’m having a spiritual whiteout.
I love the snow—if I have nowhere to go. I don’t need to see ahead then. I can calmly watch while flakes swirl down in solo dances or tight little groups, swiftly coating the ground in gossamer, then gauze, then deep fuzzy blanket. The sooty road becomes pristine. The trees get dressed in lace. The mud and the clutter of wind-delivered twigs and leaves disappear beneath a spotless veil. Stillness reigns, traffic ceases, people snuggle down in houses, while Heaven’s white pours earthward.
But when I “need” to keep appointments, go places, do things, how different my reaction: tension and restlessness, anxious pleading for the storm to stop! In such a state, I miss the beauty of the moment.
I must realize: Normal activity will resume…later. But now the falling of the sky, slowing life to standstill, is probably just what I really need.
How often in the midst of life my deepest need is to “stand still, and see the deliverance of the LORD,” to “be still, and know that [He is] God” (Exodus 14:13; Psalm 46:10). How often (though I hate to admit it) having my “sky fall” is the only thing that will bring my noisy hustle-and-bustle to a halt, my heart, mind, and soul to stillness. How often only the fallout of a blizzard can cover with white the mud and debris my scurry has churned up, so that I can afterward view the outlines of life in clear simplicity.