It’s snowing outside. Little pieces of frozen magic greet the earth from the sky. If snow was a person, I think it would be kissing the ground. If snow could talk, I think it would be saying, “Shhhh, stay quiet. Rest. Enjoy this gift from the sky.” The variety of browns, fallen leaves, colorless grass, bare trees, will slowly turn to white, and it will bring a hush. The snow has a way of changing our pace and gently, softly beckoning us to make our day its own.
Snow is a window of God to me.
Little gifts of unconditional love greet our ears from His dwelling place. We can do nothing to make it come more or come less. It falls because He decided to send it. I could dance with the utmost precision and poise, but His glory wouldn’t rain down any faster or meet me any differently. I could gather as many deeds as my arms could carry and bring them to His feet to present some kind of proof I deserve more. It wouldn’t change it’s downfall. He just comes. He surrounds, and it causes us to slow, to watch, to wait, to listen. His slow decent speaks gently, “You are no longer slaves to a Master. You are sons, you are daughters to a Father.” He rains.
I watch the snow fall, and how it kisses the ground. The Father speaks to His children, and it is like healing balm on aching piles of fear and disbelief. He isn’t landscaping. It’s not the season for that. He is covering.
“Mine,” He whispers. Do you hear Him? He beckons with choice to draw us close. Our dull spectrum of faded colors blur as our eyes readjust to the Glory. Look. Can you see it? He comes, He comes straight from the Heavens and greets us with celebration. He comes to kiss us with choice and affection. The hues transition from beige to blameless, to chosen. All goes quiet.
The dancing subsides. Our hands rest at each side. I breathe. This messy ball of confused and performance and need for significance finds its rightful place: under the weight of the knowing, under the cloak of the choice, under the arms of the reassuring presence.
2018 comes in suspended moments, and I indulge my new year with breath, with reassurance, and quiet rest.
I watch the snow.