THE WIND BLOWS WHERE IT CHOOSES
The wind has been showing up a lot lately — or maybe I’m just finally noticing. It’s a commanding presence, swirling around my house, rustling the leaves, knocking on the windows, and insisting that I pay attention. And if I still don’t, a sudden gust rushes through an open window and disrupts the stillness of the room, overturning whatever it touches. It’s a powerful reminder of the force of the wind — how it can stir, unsettle, and rearrange whatever it meets.
In many ways, breath is much the same — invisible, yet powerful, shaping the world inside me. Like a gentle breeze that often slips by unnoticed, my breath rarely crosses my mind unless something interrupts it. I don’t think about the air quietly entering and leaving my lungs until I’m sick and struggling to catch a full breath. It’s only when this basic bodily function becomes difficult that I remember what a gift it is. Wind and breath are so alike — both are invisible, both are necessary, and both are easily overlooked until they rise up and demand our attention. They move quietly most of the time, yet they sustain life. They nourish, carry, and make way for growth.
It’s no wonder that wind and breath appear so often in Scripture — not just as physical realities, but as symbols of something more. The Hebrew word ruach and the Greek word pneuma are both translated as wind, breath, or spirit — powerful imagery that reveals something deep and true. From the first breath God gives to Adam (Genesis 2:7), to the dry bones stirring back to life in Ezekiel’s vision (Ezekiel 37:5), to Jesus breathing on the disciples after His resurrection (John 20:22) — breath and wind are constant reminders of the presence of God. He is the very air our spirits need to survive. Like the air around us, the Spirit often moves gently. God’s breath whispers softly, and we must pause, lean in, and draw near to feel it. Other times, the Spirit rushes in like a violent wind — unexpected, overwhelming, impossible to ignore, even knocking down everything in its path. In either case — a whisper or a whirlwind — the Spirit is always present, always giving life, and always moving in ways that reshape us for good.
This is the message of Pentecost — the outpouring of the Holy Spirit that changed everything for the first disciples and for us today. The disciples were gathered in the upper room, uncertain and waiting, when suddenly the Spirit came — not as a gentle breeze, but as a rush of violent wind (Acts 2:2). It was a gust that could not be ignored, perhaps like those that sometimes burst through my own windows — overturning the stillness, lifting everything in their path, stirring what had been settled. Imagine the force of that wind — the ruach, the pneuma — the very breath and wind of God! It was a powerful outpouring that filled them and sent them out changed for good.
The wind that filled the upper room points to the Spirit who still moves among us today. Whether as a quiet breath or a rushing wind, God doesn’t remain at a distance. He breathes in us, moves through us — even when the doors of our hearts are locked. The power of the Holy Spirit is real. His ruach, His pneuma, fills our spirits like breath fills our lungs. Like the wind that blows where it chooses (John 3:8), God moves through our lives — sometimes gently, sometimes with great force — overturning what needs to be overturned, lifting what needs to rise. And He dwells as Spirit — not far off, but deep within us — reshaping our hearts, drawing us back to Him, and making us new. God is always present, always working, always giving life. He is the same ruach, the same pneuma, who hovered over the waters at creation and filled the room at Pentecost. God is still here. He is still breathing. He is still creating — and He is filling us with all we need to set our hearts and the world afire with His love and grace.
The breath and wind of God have never stopped moving. Are we still enough to notice and open enough to be changed?
