A few weeks ago a group of friends and I were hiking through the autumn splendor of the Rocky Mountains when, on my friend Jonalyn's cue, we stopped walking, ceased our talking and listened. I hardly dared to breath, straining to hear what she heard. A few seconds passed and then I discerned the far off, almost imperceptible burbling of a brook: the last of Winter's melted snow, winding its way down the mountain.
We stood still for awhile, hushed, wondering at the tinkling music of melted ice, and I remembered a country where it was always winter but never Christmas.
Where Narnians waited for someone to rescue them from the icy jowls of winter and give them a reason to celebrate the towering snow-covered pines and knolls frosted with fresh powder.
Where, one glorious day, the fierce whip of icy wind and silence of falling snow were replaced with the sound of far-off liquid laughter,
and the icicles began to shrink and wink in the sun's warm light, sending droplets cascading down snow-burdened boughs like tears of thanksgiving.
The White Witch saw the changes to the world she'd turned into a prison and shuddered, but Mr. Beaver lifted his head and in joyful murmur announced to his friends: Aslan is on the move.
Where Narnians waited for someone to rescue them from the icy jowls of winter and give them a reason to celebrate the towering snow-covered pines and knolls frosted with fresh powder.
Where, one glorious day, the fierce whip of icy wind and silence of falling snow were replaced with the sound of far-off liquid laughter,
and the icicles began to shrink and wink in the sun's warm light, sending droplets cascading down snow-burdened boughs like tears of thanksgiving.
The White Witch saw the changes to the world she'd turned into a prison and shuddered, but Mr. Beaver lifted his head and in joyful murmur announced to his friends: Aslan is on the move.
The Highest of High Kings may be called Aslan in Narnia, but here we call him Immanuel, God with us. We called him that 2,000 years ago when he came to live among us to make sure we'd never have to live through winter without Christmas, and to show us that winter's death will not have the last word.
Two thousand years later we continue to call him Immanuel because he's not sitting somewhere far-off watching us sweat, heave, and weep as we struggle to love him and live well. He is in us, among us, fighting for us: on the move.
Two thousand years later we continue to call him Immanuel because he's not sitting somewhere far-off watching us sweat, heave, and weep as we struggle to love him and live well. He is in us, among us, fighting for us: on the move.
So listen close for that far-off gurgle, that sound of life in a wintery world. Be still and ask Immanuel to pull back the curtain for just a moment, to show you what He is doing unseen right now for his glory and your good. He will show you.
He will show you that the smile from your distant husband, the hug from your rebellious daughter, the Facebook message from a long-lost friend, the reduction of your last medical bill, the cookies fresh from your neighbor's oven, and the anonymous check that came in the mail are all signs of spring.
He will show you that the smile from your distant husband, the hug from your rebellious daughter, the Facebook message from a long-lost friend, the reduction of your last medical bill, the cookies fresh from your neighbor's oven, and the anonymous check that came in the mail are all signs of spring.
There will be days though, many many days, when even in still and silent searching it seems like spring cannot be found. When all you can see is icy grey and all you can hear is your heart creaking and cracking, splintering into jagged pieces. Be assured: your heart does not break from the weight of the snow. This is the sound of ice that thaws. This too a sign of Aslan on the move.
Sarah, thank you for reminding me of that precious moment. I had forgotten how it felt to be still and listen and then hear. As we walked through those five days together I remember updating my status on facebook with similar wording...Aslan is on the move. However, upon arriving home it has been a constant barrage of nursing dearly beloved pet back to health, sitting for hours on end listening to a house-guest share of her broken life and wondering if it could ever be repaired, having a "friend" point out (within a few days of landing) that I have been a big disappointment to her, meeting with my son's teacher because he's not "focusing" in class, and feeling the strain of my own adrenals as they try to maintain the pace of a wife, mother and college student preparing for grad school. And, yet remembering to be still...and know that His Majesty is on the move spurs me on to rise another day even though it feels as if I've been sitting in hot embers of ash all day. Thank you for reminding me...thank you for helping me to remember a moment in time that mattered...
ReplyDeleteTanya,
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for sharing. It sounds like the pace has been grueling and discouraging these last few weeks...Do you think these difficulties are a strategic enemy attack?. I'm praying for you as you keep your hand at the plow.
I, too, needed to remember that Jesus is always at our side, fighting for us. I had a glorious week back from CO, but then had a major health relapse this week that's been terribly discouraging. My doctor wants me to get tested for Lyme disease—thought of you. It's such a blessing to have you as a resource and support. We can fight for each other:)—a little glimmer of the One who fights for us.
Sarah.... I am in total gratitude over the things you are sharing. I know that they are all coming from the loving father himself through you. I had no idea you even had this blog. I can't stop reading while the tears flow down my checks. So many private thoughts and prayers that I have been crying out to the Lord about are being discussed in your writings. You have truly blessed me. Even the things I knew I needed to pay attention to but I didn't want to address in my life are now being addressed. Please continue....Gods hand is all over the things you share. Sometimes we beg to hear from God and yet His voice isn't what we were really looking for, We were really looking for what we wanted to hear instead of what He is telling us. He has spoken through you to me. Keep writing and I will keep reading.
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