"The Gift of Unexpected Stillness" - 12/09/25

On a winter morning when inclement weather blanketed Minot overnight, the familiar rhythms paused. Schools closed. The church office doors remained locked. Travel advisories kept neighbors home. In the unexpected gift of a cleared schedule, I found myself seated in my downstairs office, not rushing children to school or hurrying to morning appointments, but working quietly on plans for the coming Christmas celebration and tending to personal devotion. In the busiest season of the church year, when Advent's hope meets December's demands, this unplanned stillness arrived like grace itself.


Scripture
"Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth."  - Psalm 46:10  NIV
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." - Matthew 11:28  NIV


Reflection
Sometimes the weather conspires with heaven to offer what the soul most needs but rarely receives. "Permission to stop".
The mixed rain and snow fall through the night, layering the world in silence. Roads close. Calendars empty. The machinery of obligation pauses, and in its absence, something ancient and holy stirs. The house grows quiet. The pace slows. What was planned gives way to what is given.

There is a Korean word, 여유 (yeoyu), that speaks of margin, of spaciousness, of unhurried breathing room in life. It is not laziness but a kind of soul-rest that makes space for what truly matters. In a culture that prizes productivity and speed, yeoyu feels almost subversive. Yet here it is, arriving unbidden on a winter morning, wrapping itself around the hours like fresh snow around bare branches.

In the stillness, deeper work begins. Not the frantic work of checking boxes or meeting deadlines, but the slower, sacred work of paying attention. Of listening. Of noticing what has been there all along but went unseen in the rush. The plans for the Christmas celebration wait on the desk. The devotional readings lie open. But beneath these tasks, something more fundamental unfolds: the simple presence of being rather than doing.

God speaks in many ways, but stillness is one of the oldest languages of the divine. Moses encountered the burning bush when he turned aside from his daily work. Elijah heard the still small voice not in earthquake or fire but in silence. Mary received the angel's announcement in the quiet of an ordinary day. Again and again, the sacred breaks through when the noise subsides and the soul has room to receive.

The paradox of Advent is this. We prepare for the coming of God while God is already present. We wait for what has already arrived. We anticipate a future that is also now. In the hurried weeks before Christmas, when every moment seems claimed by obligation and expectation, the true preparation may not be in doing more but in being still enough to recognize Love already at work.

What if the closed roads are not an interruption but an invitation? What if the canceled plans are not a loss but a gift? What if this unscheduled morning is not wasted time but holy ground?

There is work to be done, of course. Christmas will come. Plans must be made. Sermons will be written and services prepared. But the deepest preparation happens not in the sanctuary or the office but in the interior spaces where God meets the willing heart. It happens in the pause between tasks. In the breath between words. In the quiet hour when nothing urgent demands attention and everything essential can finally be heard.

The snow continues to fall. The world outside grows softer, gentler, more forgiving. Inside, in the downstairs office, in the unhurried morning, a different kind of abundance gathers. Not the abundance of accomplishment but the abundance of presence. Not the fullness of a packed schedule but the fullness of attention given and grace received.

This is the gift of unexpected stillness: not emptiness but spaciousness. Not void but openness. A clearing in the forest of obligation where light can enter and truth can land. Where the weary can rest and the burdened can lay down what they carry. Where the Christ child, soon to be celebrated, is already being born again in the quiet chambers of the heart.


Prayer
God of stillness and silence, God of the unhurried heart, we give thanks for the unexpected pauses that interrupt our plans and restore our souls. When winter weather closes roads, open wider the doors of our awareness. When obligations are canceled, help us receive the gift of presence. In this Advent season, teach us the holy art of slowing down, of paying attention, of making room for what truly matters. May the snow that silences the world outside quiet the noise within, that we might hear Your voice and know Your nearness. In the name of the One who comes softly, gently, in the stillness of a winter night. Amen.