“God’s voice thunders in marvellous ways; He does great things beyond our understanding.
He says to the snow, ‘Fall on the earth,’ and to the rain shower, ‘Be a mighty downpour.’” (Job 37:5-6 NIV)
This is a great passage and I received some insight into it while flying recently to the nation of Kazakhstan. I read on planes because I can’t sleep.
God says to the snow, “Fall on the earth.” That’s it. Just do one thing. Just fall. And then He says to the rain shower, “Be a mighty downpour.” Essentially, He is saying, “Just do the thing I have actually created you to do. You’re rain: so rain. You’re snow: so snow.
I love the simplicity of that, the tremendous weight that this takes off my shoulders. God’s asking me to be the thing He’s already created me to be. And He’s asking you to be the thing He’s already created you to be.
He doesn’t tell the snow to thaw and become rain, or the rain tp freeze itself into snow. He says, essentially: Do one thing. Do the thing that you love to do, that you have been created to do.
So many of us twist ourselves up in knots trying desperately to be something else, someone else, some endless list of qualities and capabilities that we think will make us loved or safe or happy. That’s an exhausting way to live, and I know that because I have done it.
God tells the rain to just pour down. He tells the snow to simply fall. What are the things He is asking you to do, the things He made you to do, the things you do effortlessly and easily?
What do you do with the ease and lightness go falling snow? Many of us have wandered so far from those things. We’ve gotten wrapped up in what someone else wanted us to be, what we thought would keep us happy and safe and gain us approval.
But there’s tremendous value in travelling back to our essential selves, the loves and skills and passions that God planted inside us long ago.
When I look at my life these days, I see the threads of passion and identity that I have carried through my whole life: a love of books and reading, a desire to write, connecting with people, gardening, camping, and being outdoors not surrounded by people. These are the things I have always loved, and they continue to bring me great joy and fulfillment.
Think about your adolescent self, your child self, the “you” you have always been. God imprinted a sacred, beautiful collection of passions and capacities right into your heart: what do you love? What does your passion bubble over for?
So much of adulthood is peeling off the layers of expectations and pressure, and protecting those precious things that lie beneath. We live in a culture that shouts, that prescribes, rather narrowly, what it means to be a man or a woman, what it means to be a success, what it means to live a valuable life.
But those definitions require us to live on a treadmill, both literally and figuratively, always hustling to fit in, to be thin enough and young enough and sparkly enough, for our homes to be large enough and spotless, our children well-mannered and clean-faced, our dreams orderly and profitable. But that’s not life. That’s not where the fullness of joy and meaning are found.
The snow is only meant, created, commanded to fall. The rain is only meant, created, commanded to pour down. You were only meant , created, commanded to be who you are, weird and wonderful, imperfect and messy and lovely.
What do you need to leave behind in order to recover that essential self that God created? What do you need to walk away from in order to reclaim those parts of you that God designed, unique to you and for His purposes?