Like most of the southeastern United States, our neighborhood got snowed in last month. Authorities instructed drivers to remain safely at home due to the ice covered road ways. Many businesses closed so as to not risk the health of their employees. All signs pointed to having a quiet day inside. A local man was interviewed at a service station several miles from his home. The interviewer asked, “What made you come out in this weather? Are you without electrical power or heat?” The man replied, “No, I came to get a cup of coffee and get out of the house. It is too quiet there, and I knew if I got to the store, I’d see somebody I knew.” After all the warnings to drive only in an emergency situation, this man chose to drive away from the quiet. Not all of us are suited to long periods of quiet, but there is a benefit to our spirituality if we can be still, if only for one day. Being still permits our brains to rest. We can silence the constant loop of errands to do or church visits to make. Being quiet allows us to stop. For many years, I have been enamored of the verse, “Be still and know I am God.” Psalm 46:10. Being still and quiet can be a challenge for me. Yet I believe there are paths to God that can only be taken if I am still and quiet. There is a poem by Robert Wicks that calls me to the silence of snow. Snow Falling on Snow Outside, the snow is swirling, the wind whooshing, and the tree branches scratching against the house, wanting to come in. Then in the spaces in between, when the wind is forgotten and all is quiet… I open my heart to listen. I like the phrase “in the spaces in between” because that is where I find my quiet. In the spaces between supervising homework with my girls and washing dinner dishes, I find the quiet to whisper, “Thank you, God, for people who need my brain and my hands.” In between folding laundry and writing paragraphs, I pray, “Thank you, God, for the opportunity to care for my family and share words about you.” Sometimes, it is too quiet and I find myself fighting against being still or struggling to create room for the open spaces. And other times, I thirst for the open spaces because in those places I am renewed. Tammy Abee Blom is an ordained Baptist minister, regular contributor to BWIM’s blog, mother of two amazing daughters, teacher for children’s Sunday School, and lives in Columbia, South Carolina.
