This is my spot. Well, a part of it. It's a park not too far from school that has a lot of open space, and some lovely trees around. Birches are the most beautiful tree, are they not? In the summer, the stark white contrasts against the backdrop of luscious green leaves. And in the winter... well, just look at it. It's beautiful.

It's snowed this weekend, mostly today. I walked through eight inches of snow to find some time beneath my trees. But it was worth it. It's still there. Though the world is still moving about, it seems as though the snow is God's way of telling the world, "Hush. Slow down. Be still." I was contemplating that today-- be still. I've heard it and pondered it very often before, but it struck me differently today. I've always heard that we need to be still, to hear God's still, small voice. And I believe that. It's hard to hear God's whisper while you're shouting to be heard. So I went to be still, and to hear. But you know what? God doesn't say that. The goal of the stillness is not to get the answer you're crying for. The psalmist instead writes, "Be still, and know I am not." He doesn't say, "Be still and listen for my thundering answer." He doesn't say, "Be still long enough for me to speak, then get up and go your way." He says, "Be still, and know I am God." Psalm 46 then goes and declares God's glory. That's it. No promise that, in the stillness, God's revelation will always come. I went to my spot today, praying for direction, for leading, for answers. Instead God showed me that that's not His plan, at least not for today. It's for me to be still, to cease striving, and to be content in that stillness. Rather than looking at winter as transient, and only a necessary season to get to the life of spring, I must be content with the falling snow and rejoice in the beauty it has to offer, today. I cannot look for tomorrow in today's revelation. All I can do is be content, at rest. All I can do is be still.