Just the sound of it sends excitement through me.
Yes, from the time I was a little girl growing up
in the Catskills of New York
I’ve had a love affair with snow.
We’d walk back and forth to school
No matter how deep the snow.
Stumping it with our boot covered feet.
Me, dodging snow balls and my brother throwing them
to the boys across the street from us.
Snowmen and snow forts
and bowls of snow ice cream.
When I moved south to Virginia
the snow followed me.
I’d be as excited as the first graders I taught
watching the small flakes grow bigger and bigger.
Seeing it pile up on the fence posts
and on each tree limb.
Happiest of memories was getting that call
early in the morning
announcing that school was cancelled.
Change of schedule
Time to play.
Blankets of whiteness all over.
Turning the pages of the wordless book in Sunday School.
Black for my heart was black with sin
Red for his precious blood I know
has washed me white as snow.
There it was again.
The white page. Snow.
Everything washed white and clean.
A new beginning.
Sins forgiven. His matchless grace.
In the south they speak of ‘calling for snow’.
Sounded strange to me when I came down here over thirty years ago.
Who calls for snow?
Seems it is the weathermen.
Sometimes they call for it but it doesn’t ever come.
Childrens’ noses pressed against the glass
Mothers’ worried eyes.
But it doesn’t come.
But then other times they call for it and it comes.
God is the Author and Creator of all.
We watch again as I write this blog.
We wait to see if perhaps we will be blessed with
the miracle of snow again.
I hope so. Its beauty always thrills me
But we will see.
One thing is true though.
His precious blood
Still washes all our sin away when we bring it to Him.
Wonderful miracle of grace.
No one is ever disappointed.
Amazing grace that keeps cleansing us from all our sin.