Expecting: Winter Stillness

You are up north and spending time in the country. You step from the warm almost overheated house into the dark night. You are bundled in a hat, scarf, gloves, boots, and thick winter coat. You feel as round as a snowman with the same amount of limited mobility.

You sharply inhale as the cold, crisp air shocks your lungs.

You exhale and feel the vapors lilt softly across your exposed face.

You step further into the dark leaving the soft glow of the security lights but accompanied by the crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch of snow under your boots.

Breathing is easier now as your lungs become accustomed to the cold air.

You stop and look up.

The sky is clear and the stars twinkle, asking to be perused.

You hear the wind lightly whispering through the evergreens.

You hear your own inhales and exhales.

It is not silent but quiet.

The cold begins to seep into your body.

A blanket of stillness covers creation, and for this moment of time you are enveloped too. It is as if the world takes a deep breath awaiting the start of a new beginning. It is the calm before the storm, a storm of glad tidings and joy. The senses are elevated in anticipation, and the soul is beckoned to come alive.

Then there is the faintest of whispers. Your ears strain to catch the tiny waves of sound. What is it? What is being said?

"I am. I am He who is, who was, and who is yet to come."