Let It Snow

“Surely the snow held memories.” Kristy Cambron, The Butterfly and the Violin

Last Friday morning started out gloomy and drizzly. For more than 48 hours, the weather report indicated a slight possibility of a wintry mix some time that day, but I was dubious. It seldom snows here in my adopted hometown and the conditions weren’t quite right to create the frozen precipitation I was dreaming of. Consequently, as the day wore on, my lower lip drooped like a pouty toddler’s. But that night something magical happened. At 7:30 the icky cold rain transformed into snow, and not just any snow. Huge, fluffy white flakes fell so thick and fast that it’s no wonder forecasters call the phenomenon a “snow shower.” So like any responsible adult, I bundled up, rushed outside, and ran around with my seven-year-old niece. While this was the first time for her to ever see snow, it’s a toss-up as to who was more excited!

I can’t help myself…the snow turns me into a little kid. It holds such wonderful memories 

from my childhood. Granted, it usually only snowed twice a year in Birmingham where I grew up, but one of those times was almost always near Christmas and the other? It usually coincided with my January birthday. So for me, snow means parties and hot chocolate and snow ice cream. It means snowball fights and sliding down huge hills on plastic lawn and leaf bags. It means home. And now it means the precious memory of walking around in the hush of night with my awestruck niece whispering, “Kissy, it’s gorgeous.” In that holy moment, I shared her childlike wonder at the beauty only God can create. And while rationally I know He didn’t send the snow just for me, it still felt like my own special gift from my very loving Father. As I reluctantly headed indoors that night, I whispered, “Merry Christmas to you, too, Lord.”