“For the listener, who listens in the snow, and, nothing himself, beholds nothing that is not there and nothing that is,” she quoted from Wallace Stevens.
Kerri, another High Calling blogger, was considering this verse even as she was considering the snow outside her door. Nothing, nothing, nothing, she noticed. Thrice used in the poem was the word “nothing.”
“Nothing” was significant, she realized. She felt insignificant.
It was the snow. Snow that levels off rough edges and smooths over blemishes. Snow that falls equally over the rich and the poor, the good and the evil. Snow falling down without respect for persons was making her feel insignificant.
Sometimes, I feel that way, too, in the haunting, blue quiet of snow. It makes me want to shout out, “I’m here!” into the silence that doesn’t seem to care that I am. And like Kerri, I find myself shouting out into lots of silences, trying to make those spaces about me, trying not to be the “nothing” that I am.
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Several years ago, I was attending a new church, trying to make new friends, and there was one particular woman I found myself connecting with. After a few weeks of attending the same Bible study and socializing with a common group of friends, she pulled me aside and said she needed to talk to me. She asked me to meet her for dinner the following week.
During those days in between, I rehearsed every thing I had said to her, all of the interactions we had had, assuming I must had done something or said something that offended her that she needed to confront me about. When I couldn’t come up with anything, I determined that she probably wanted my advice or to ask my opinion.
Somehow, in my extreme egotism, I has assumed she wanted to talk to me about me.
When we actually met, I was relieved to know that I had done nothing wrong. My new friend simply wanted to tell me about a situation in her life that was difficult, that she needed me to pray about.
But I was horrified to realize that I could turn absolutely any situation into an opportunity to think about myself.
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What started as a snowy day ended with an opportunity for worship for Kerri, as she considered the thrice-holy Someone who died for all the thrice-nothing No ones.
And then the snow started falling here, too. And after reading her words, I understood anew how significant my “nothing” is in the hands of my Savior.
Oh, for a fortnight of snowy days.
Join me for regular jaunts around The High Calling network, randomly visiting fellow bloggers, soaking up their words and ideas, and then coming back here to write about them from my perspective. This is what The High Calling network is all about, after all.
Our site is about casting a vision that is clear enough and inspiring enough that our readers can run with it on their own sites. We then spend the majority of our editorial time listening to them on their sites and helping them shine as writers. We believe in the power of the laity so much that we are relying on them and their audiences to help spread the vision that has been given to us. – Marcus Goodyear, senior editor, thehighcalling.org (from “The Challenge, Strategy, and Execution of Combining Web Properties” by Dan King on churchcrunch.com)
Snow falling can be beautiful; it can suffocate, even bury; it can soften and it can deaden. I am not a fan of snow mostly because I can’t stand winter or being cold, but I will say that snow does fascinate.
It has pulled out all of these memories and stories and thoughtful reflections.
Laura — you are right about the beauty shining in the midst of winter. I am thankful for that, that each season has a beauty of its own.
Deidra – we are all blessed by grace, really. Thanks for sharing your story of all that snow and what you learned.
Cherie – so glad you stopped by, and thanks for following me. Your encouragement means a lot.
Craig – thanks for your prayers and kind words. I kicked around your blog for a while recently. You do great stuff there!
Last year, 45 inches of snow fell on our little town over the holidays. We were stranded. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. No one to visit. It was just us for a long stretch before the plows finally made it through and rescued us. After the initial “woe is me’s” I got used to the quiet, the silence, the still. Then I realized that “woe is me” is just the tip of the iceberg, and I realized just how blessed I am by grace.
charity, you are such a blessing.thank you for sharing your story, and for introducing me to kerri. the snow does crazy things with my head…i tend to get a little melancholy. but it’s not all bad, in the midst of it, beauty seems to shine.
hugs to you this day!
I heart this sentence, “But I was horrified to realize that I could turn absolutely any situation into an opportunity to think about myself.” I smiled – but only because it hit home. Thank you.
And Godspeed still, in this year of “empty”- still praying for you.
Just blogging around the block a bit and happened on your site. I completely identify with that all consuming power to make everything all about me. I have a feeling it’s pretty universal. Thanks for the good reminder!
You’re writing is beautiful!