If we have forgotten the Name of our God,
or stretched out our hands to some strange god,
Will not God find it out?
for God knows the secrets of the heart.
Psalm 44:20-21

I watch the beginning of the sunrise cast a glow under the snow-laden trees. It is still dark out and the plows have not yet reached my street, so this magical landscape remains undisturbed. What is it about a blanket of snow that brings quiet and calm?

A quilt on my lap, a warm sweater, a cup of tea and I feel safe and cherished. I could linger here, accounting my peace to these comforts, but that would not be the whole of it. These indulgences are not gods—yet if I do not reach beyond them, I could make idols out of them.

Rather, this quietude is a foretaste of complete union with the holy. God knows my secrets. The times I stop short of undivided adoration. My conditional surrender. My satisfaction with almost. My reliance on me.

My only hope is to cast myself beyond the security of now, and trust that my almost will keep me on the way to the manger.