The weather forecast called for snow and reporters told us we’d be stuck inside for a few days. So we did what Georgian’s do and panicked over a few predicted inches of snow. Yes, that one time we had a horrid snow storm and we are still recovering with a twinge of PTSD. They say it will snow and we go into a panic. We buy out the grocery store as if we all have barren pantries needing to be replenished. Schools close early and send everyone home well in advance which results in a 5 o’clock traffic jam at 2. We rush home to bunker down before snowflakes begin to dance their way down from the sky.
I curled up with a new book and hot tea in my favorite chair and exhaled in anticipation of our little white fluffy flakes. Slowly the rain turned to sleet and escorted in the magical snowflakes. Only to seem to glow under the street light. I woke the next day and stood at my front door and took a deep breath. I love snow. I love the cool air that seems to kiss my cheeks. I love how the snow seems to cover up all of God’s creation as if it were a blanket tucking the world in for a long nights rest.
I stand there and breathe it all in.
The quiet, the calm.
It’s as if God sends us the snow as a gentle reminder of all that He is. When the snow lands, it quiets the world. We slow down and bunker in with our people. I step outside and hear nothing. A reminder from God that being still and quiet is good. In a world making more noise than ever, a reminder from above to be silent. If God can calm the world with nothing but a few (Yes, I mean a few… I live in Georgia it doesn’t take much) snowflakes then why do we struggle to find it in our every day? Maybe it’s the stark contrast of momentary panic in anticipation to a world brought to a silent standstill in a matter of hours that creates the illusion of peace and quiet. I think it’s God.
When it snows, neighbors meet up at the biggest hill we can find to share sleds and laughter. We call neighbors to borrow that one tablespoon of baking powder because we need some. Families come together over puzzles and board games. Televisions are cut off due to lacking new content and books are opened.
While cabin fever eventually sets in and little Johnny hide the last puzzle piece and Sally is out to kill him for it. The little ones have snow in their gloves and they cry the big crocodile tears because they can’t feel their fingers but they want to go outside and play. We burn our tongue on hot chocolate that’s just a little too hot and stand in front of a fully stocked pantry wondering what to eat and questioning why we didn’t buy more frozen pizzas and wine. Yes, the snow can leave us a little loopy by day 3, but it’s still good.
Eventually, the ice melts and kids go back to school. We go to work and talk about all we did while stuck inside and we realize that it was kind of pleasant. As if God sent us the snow to remind us of what’s good and what we’re missing with all of our busy noise. We are reminding of those we live next door to and that we should share things like sleds and baking powder. What if snowflakes were little love notes from above to remind us of what we are longing for, we already have.