It began snowing in the middle of the night. It’s still snowing. There is no wind to speak of; even the chimes on the front deck are quiet. Snowflakes are dancing down to land softly on the white carpet already laid across the ground. I never used to think much about snowflakes, except perhaps as a nuisance because they landed everywhere I had to drive. It was a lot of bother to shovel the SUV out, make a path from the back deck to the driveway, and shovel off a place to lay down birdseed. It was even more worrisome to get out on the roads with people not used to driving in snow.Snow is, however, a grand excuse not to go to work, to church, to town, to anywhere. And sometimes it does keep us from doing things we think we need to do. I’m beginning to think God uses snow to slow us down, to make us think. Maybe he’s using the snow storm to teach me patience and how to have joy on the journey in spite of whatever I’m seeing right in front of me in one time and place.
Today I’m watching the snowflakes dance and it occurs to me that God chose to make each one a little different from every other snowflake, just like he made each one of his children different from every other human being. It amazes me how God causes each snowflake to work the other until a carpet of white covers the ground. Maybe God was hoping for the same effect with human beings – that together we would cover the world for Christ. Seems we’ve missed the plan somehow, dancing to the wrong piper, waiting for God to save us from the path he never told us to go down in the first place.
I was struck by the peaceful falling of the snowflakes as they danced down to the carpet of white. Each one so delicate. Each one so intricate. Each one so pristinely white. Each one so exquisitely beautiful. Separately, and together, they create a breathtaking picture of God’s beauty and of the extraordinary care he took to create them. How much more beautiful are the children he created in his own image. Yet, there are so many who view themselves as less than beautiful. I was always the smart one, my sister was always the pretty one. From much of humanity’s viewpoint smart does not outweigh pretty and never has.
I watch today’s supermodels and I wonder when we decided that looking anorexic equates with being beautiful. I wonder when we decided that a size eight in women’s dresses was “plus size.” I wonder when we decided that we needed to go on a starvation diet because we are a size ten and society says we have to be a size zero to be considered beautiful. I watch diet plan commercials and wonder why men and women who don’t appear to be obese think they have to buy into such plans. Not too long ago my general practitioner told me I was obese. She defined obese as being above a size six dress size. She recommended I go on a very strict diet before my obesity killed me.
I thought about that conversation as I watched the snow fall. Who was I trying to impress? The fashion industry? My family and friends? Church members? Coworkers? For most of my life it mattered a great deal what others thought of me. I tried to fit in but it never really worked. Folks made sure I knew I wasn’t beautiful. People made fun of my proclivity for wearing Christmas sweaters from December 1st to December 25th in honor of the season. I was plainly told I didn’t have any fashion sense when I wore white after Labor Day and refused to wear spiked heels with every outfit.
I watched as suddenly a male cardinal flew onto the front deck. He was large and bright red. He contrasted starkly with the white snow and forest evergreens. I think the beauty of his bright red against the carpet of white and the softness of the evergreens pleased God. It occurred to me that the only person I need to please is God. So, maybe I’m not a size zero. So maybe I don’t have the perfect figure. So maybe I’m not going to win the Miss America contest. I’m a child of the King, made in his image. I’m beautiful because he says so.
In a lot of ways I thought I had to be transformed into beautiful raiment according to the world's viewpoint in order to be used by God. I can’t speak to a crowd of people without being outwardly beautiful according to societal demands, can I? I can’t come alongside someone and help support them without wearing the latest fashions, can I? I can’t teach someone how to live for Christ without being a scholar, can I? I can’t be female and do things that don’t involve the nursery or the kitchen for the church, can I? Excuses, excuses, you hear them every day …
I have a lot of excuses for not doing things. I can be quite adept at dreaming them up. Unfortunately, God’s not buying my excuses. He doesn’t care how common my garments are. He doesn’t care how non-exciting and boring my daily routine is. He says he can still use me anyway. I’m not very good at that. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty awful at it. I often go chasing after rabbits when I should be standing guard at home.
I keep forgetting that God will never give me more than I can bear. I always assume he’s going to make me do something I’m terrible at doing – like cook for people. I keep forgetting that God knows my strengths better than I do, and that he knows where he needs to use me. I’m bad to dream up fame and fortune as a great Christian leader when all God is asking of me is to be there to comfort someone who’s hurting. I’m looking for neon lights when God says go where there is no light.
I’m busy carrying my great Christian torch around but I’ve forgotten the Match. I’m running around spouting mounds of theology but I’ve forgotten the Writer. I’m imagining great hordes being saved by my speeches but I’ve forgotten the Word. It is painfully embarrassing to figure out, at last, that it’s not all about me.
As John 1:1 says: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” It’s all about God; it always has been.
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