Snowflakes flutter down gently and begin to form a sea of white. As the transformation begins, I wonder how such tiny particles could come together in such unity, how fragments could be changed into something whole. I also realize that this natural picture mirrors the internal, that a small image such as this could give a glimpse into the soul. The pieces, the fragments, are many. So many, in fact, that they seem too far in number to count. So, too, our own struggles. Overwhelmed, we think it an impossibility that anything could be put back together, that the shattered could be transformed into the whole.
The winds whip the snow around in circles, appearing to disturb the serenity that once reigned. Doesn't life do the same? Not only do we struggle to see hope amid the seemingly thousands of fragments that are our dashed dreams, memories, and plans, but then the winds of change only add to the swirl of confusion. We are lost in the whirl. How could it turn out for the better? How could the story end in triumph when it only appears to be worsening? We hold on; we watch and try to wait out the fury.
Then the winds die down. The whiteness has continued to collect on the cold, frosty world below. Now, I see it clearly: the fragments were still coming together, even when the winds roared the loudest. The transformation still happens. I must simply be aware - aware that hope has never really left, despite my feelings to the contrary. The Hands that create the snowflakes are the same Hands that touch the broken pieces of my life and bring a promise of redemption. Even in the darkest hours, He has never left. The winds may blow, may send the shattered bits into a million directions, but He never ceases the transforming work.
A blanket of beauty now covers the ground. So, also, does Grace cover my soul.