Dear Reader,
Today I have been reflecting on two simple images: a snow
globe and a stone tossed into a still pond. At first they seem unrelated, yet
together they teach the same spiritual principle. Peace often comes not from
controlling the disturbance, but from trusting the process God has established.
The snow globe is beautiful when it rests quietly on a
shelf. But once it is shaken, swirling flakes obscure the peaceful scene
within. We can no longer see clearly. Given enough time, however, the flakes
slowly settle and the beauty reappears.
So it is with many of our lives. Circumstances shake us.
Fear, resentment, anxiety, and uncertainty cloud our vision until we wonder
whether peace will ever return. Unlike the snow globe, however, we are not
simply waiting for time to pass. We are invited to trust. God's grace works
much like gravity. Though unseen, it gently draws the chaos downward until
clarity returns.
In recovery I have found that this trust begins with Steps
Two and Three. We come to believe that a Power greater than ourselves can
restore us to sanity, and we make the decision to turn our will and our lives
over to the care of God as we understand Him. The miracle is not that life
stops shaking us; the miracle is that we no longer have to remain shaken.
Marianne Williamson expresses this truth beautifully: “When
we surrender to God, we let go of our attachment to how things happen on the
outside, and we become more concerned with what happens on the inside.” It is
within that surrendered heart that God often performs His greatest work.
The second image is a stone tossed into a still lake. The
impact disturbs the calm surface, and ripples spread outward in every
direction. Yet the lake does not resist the stone. It receives it. The ripples
gradually soften until the water is once again still.
I imagine that lake as the love of God. Our crises may
strike suddenly, but God's presence is greater than the point of impact. His
love surrounds the disturbance, absorbs what we cannot, and patiently restores
peace. The stone settles, the ripples fade, and the lake becomes whole again.
We discover that we are not alone, but surrounded, sustained, and set free.
Neither image suggests that problems disappear. The snow
does not vanish. The stone remains beneath the water. Rather, they remind us
that restoration is possible. Recovery does not promise a life without storms.
The gospel does not promise a life without trials. Both promise that, with God,
we can become people who are no longer ruled by them.
The Psalmist invites us, “Be still, and know that I am God”
(Psalm 46:10). Being still is not passive resignation. It is an act of faith.
It is choosing to stop stirring the waters of yesterday's regrets and
tomorrow's fears, allowing God to do what we cannot do for ourselves.
Perhaps God has placed lessons like these all around us. A
snow globe. A quiet lake. A sunrise. A growing tree. Ordinary things quietly
proclaim extraordinary truths to those willing to pause and notice.
The next time something simple catches your attention, ask
yourself: What might God be teaching me through this? You may discover that
creation has been gently preaching God's wisdom all along.
I would enjoy hearing about the ordinary things that have
taught you extraordinary lessons. Please share your thoughts in the comments
below.
Amen.
🙏🧘♂️💕🤗☮️
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