During the holiday shopping season, Jonathan’s Chick-Fil-A stays open later on Saturdays than it does during the rest of the year, so the last four Saturdays I have been in bed when he’s arrived home. This week, however, with weather people on all local stations forecasting slippery roads, high winds and snow, I was anxious (a sin. I know.) about his safety, and stayed awake until he was safely parked and through the door. He scoffed at the warnings, saying that yes, the wet roads had become a little slick with the drop in temperature and there had been some wind gusts and a few snow flakes, “. . . but nothing’s sticking, and the roads are actually drying out,” he reported. We soon tucked ourselves into bed and forgot all about the blustery meteorologists and their forecasts.
This morning after our customary family snuggle time (which should really be renamed “sibling weekly wrestling” lately) we all trooped up the stairs to have breakfast. As the slowest moving member of the family, I was still halfway up the stairs when I heard the mackerdoodle say, “Daddy! There’s snow EVERYWHERE!” I chuckled affectionately at her childish hyperbole and continued my climb. As I rounded the hallway toward the living room, I heard Jonathan say, “WOW. She’s right.”
Several inches of white wintery precipitation had landed in the seven hours since Jonathan had arrived home, and it had certainly stuck. All of the neighborhood cars were cozily tucked under a white fluffy comforter of snow and more continued to fall. In fact, more than eight hours later, it is still snowing, although the flakes have changed from the fat, frantic, holiday card version to the tiny, shimmering, snow globe glitter style. The gusts of wind will periodically blast over our roof, blowing up a tempest of confused snowflakes which eventually end up coming to rest in the growing drifts along our back deck and portions of our back yard area.
The cardinals and blue jays look resplendent against the white backdrop, and even the slightly drab chickadees are more attractive sitting, feathers fluffed against the wind, on a snowy deck railing. The wind has refused to allow the trees even a light covering for their naked branches, but even their brown limbs dancing in the swirling flakes look more beautiful than they did shivering in the windy rain yesterday.
It is a beautiful consolation for the cold and the wind and the gray skies; just a little example of the common graces that come from a good and kind God who can make all things, even winter, glorious.