White in December: Slowing Down to Simply Be

The slow, unhurried pace of snowflakes meandering through the still air—it’s magical, isn’t it? Magnificently large flakes soft fall on gloved fingers, melt on expectant tongues, and the world’s a bliss, time slowed, the present stilled. Yet could our longing for white in December not transcend a desire for a dreamy Christmas? Perhaps the white itself is a space where the hurry and pressure of expectations can fall away—a space where we can simply be.

I was a child beckoned often to the window, my breath forming clouds of condensation on the pane, wishing, wishing for white before Christmas. Snow preceded laughter hovering in the cold air, the roar and vibration of the snowmobile beneath me, the distinct smell of the gas fumes long-clinging to coats. White in December meant a snowmobile ride behind my dad to scout out the Christmas tree. Our trees picks didn’t always embellish lovely—like the one year the tree we procured turned out to be a cat spruce—but the magic in tree hunting allured me every year.

Time slows when we string delicate ornaments on tree branches, sip hot cider or homemade nog, snuggle in close for stories retold. But as time turns each calendar year, I find it harder to keep the slow and the magic of Christmas in close.

When our hearts try to keep pace with the purposeful clicks of high heels echoing down through mall expanse, we come up short-changed. How I long to leave the frenzy for layers of socks in snow boots and crystal cold air chilling my lungs so I can drink deep of the silence and the wonder.

The wonder.

When I still I sense more fully the wonder of His weighty glory.

This God who created the moon alight in the sky, the stars to twinkle in the silent midnight, the hurry to slow in the remembering—He holds me near like a treasure in His hand. Isaiah 62:3 states it this way in the CSB: “You will be a glorious crown in the Lord’s hand, and a royal diadem in the palm of your God’s hand.” Not only am I held tender in the palm of God Himself—He says I have immense value.

Do you doubt your value in the sludge of buying and wrapping and wrappings ripped? Does the busy wrap you round and leave your heart a little weary?

I pray these words rouse your hope: be still.

Be still.

As Jason Upton aptly sings, “Be is the beginning of Being  / Be is the Beginning of Belonging / Be is the beginning of Behaving and Believing / Be is the Beginning of Becoming / the Beloved” (Be Still—Live). In the stillness we can hear the words the noise loses—the words spoken by the One who alone defines our identity.

Friend, all of our good-intentioned doing doesn’t define us. The size and number of the gifts we wrap this Christmas doesn’t define us. The amount of our giving, the degree of our sacrifices, the size of our hearts—they don’t define us. Even our best efforts to notice and value and build community with our neighbors doesn’t define us.

But I need to slow down—welcome the white in December—to not miss the voice that matters most.

The white swirl of wintry December helps me to remember: in the white space I attune my ears to listen. I need the slow of margin even in the Christmas season, especially in this season, so I don’t forget who I am—Whose I am.

My merry and good cheer don’t earn me anything—they are the outflow of knowing I have nothing to earn because Grace already earned it for me. My calendar full of Advent activities, my most creative Elf on the Shelf shenanigans, my lights so carefully strung—their prominence pales in light of what the One who created me says about me.The holiday parties I host, the Angel Trees kids I buy for, the shoe boxes I pack, the neighbors I surprise with cookies—all of this is because of who I am, not to determine who I am.

When I get it turned around, I turn round and round, snow-storm short-sighted. Christmas comes and goes—all a blur. And in January I come up feeling sharp the empty.

Where are you trying through your busy and your bustle this season to earn your value?

I invite you to join me in creating white space in December so we may find wonder through being still. My prayer is that in the stillness we would know who we really are—chosen, beloved, adopted, commissioned to be disciple-making disciples—and then out of that knowing, do. May we remember that who we are determines what we do to bless, but what we do never defines who we are.

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