You could've come like a mighty storm
With all the strength of a hurricane
You could've come like a forest fire
With the power of Heaven in Your flame

But You came like a winter snow
Quiet and soft and slow
Falling from the sky in the night
To the earth below

Ooh no, Your voice wasn't in a bush burning
Your voice wasn’t in a rushing wind
It was still, it was small, it was hidden

--Audrey Assad

I love this time of year – the holidays! One of the things I love most is the transition from Thanksgiving to Christmas. After a wonderful day full of cooking, family, reflection on God’s blessings, and, of course, a good football game, I look forward to starting up my Christmas playlist. All the classic Christmas carols are a must, but I also love some of the lesser-known songs that shed new light on the meaning of Christmas in our lives.

The lyrics to the song Winter Snow are some of my favorite. It’s been a favorite of mine for several years, but this Christmas season it caught my attention and has stayed on repeat. The song reflects on the way that Jesus chose to introduce Himself to this world. No grand entrance, no displays of power, simply a baby in the silence of night. It’s funny how our current life-walk can cause us to hear a song in a whole new way and glean meaning previously missed.

This year my family’s life-walk has led us to a place we never imagined; A place of loss, grief, and sorrow. In April of this year, we very unexpectedly and suddenly lost my mom. In a matter of weeks, my mom went from being vibrant, active, and seemingly healthy, to receiving a terminal diagnosis of metastatic pancreatic cancer and passing away less than a month later. With next to no warning, we lost the joyful, loving, kind, gracious center of our family.

As you can imagine, during that time we all prayed fervently. We prayed for God’s definitive healing of my mom. We prayed for His slow healing through medical treatment. We just prayed for His intervention. We prayed those prayers, not because we were deserving, but because we believe in a God who cares deeply for people, who knows us intimately, who is faithful, and who desires to give us good things. We also prayed that we could remember those things we believe about Him to be true even if God chose not to heal my mom.

Our hearts broke when healing was not given. These past seven months have brought with it all that you would expect of grief: deep sorrow, loneliness, questioning, and the constant discovery of what was lost when we lost my mom. As a family we have focused on drawing near to each other in our grief, observing and honoring what used to be, while also creating new traditions and purpose to draw our gaze forward. This has been good and healthy, but there are still the moments that take my breath away. The moments when I recognize, yet again, that she’s missing.

So where has God been in the midst of all of this? We pleaded for displays of power, a grand entrance, a clear declaration of God’s sovereignty, but it never came. Why?

Enter the song. Could it be that the way God sent his son into the world is the way he often chooses to work in our lives? At times seeming so soft and small, nearly hidden, but ever-working toward his purposes: to extend comfort, and hope, and grace to all who will have it. While displays of power and might are at his disposal at any given time, God chooses for his gospel to be a gentle voice of love and assurance, offering salvation through Jesus.

Strangely enough, our prayer seven months ago was answered, because God intervened. Not in a burning bush fashion, but in a still, small, hidden way. His healing was not given, but his small graces were constant and his presence has been tangible in desperate moments. Like waking after a snowfall overnight, I have looked around to discover that He has been there gradually healing our hearts.

I am often reminded of something I once read, “Divine silence does not mean divine inactivity.” In the midst of our mountain and valley life-walk, God is quietly working our lives, ever with us, reminding us that he is good and he is in control – like a soft-falling snow.

Michal Anne Whitcomb is a Licensed Professional Counselor in Dallas, in association with The Marriage and Family Group, PLLC.

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