I am enchanted by snow when it softens a city. It's like the gentleness of God blanketing all that is sharp and angular, and somehow this is magical to me. Maybe that's because, in grade school, I rode the city bus twice a day. The bus made stops and starts along Main Street, its doors whooshing open to let in soggy passengers toting briefcases and shopping bags. I could hear sighs of relief as these weary ones fell into seats; they seemed grateful to be able to let chilled bones thaw. I watched the snow-shrouded city roll by the windows; all was fresh and white and new and clean.
I don’t spend time on buses anymore. But I still notice snow, making a decision to savor its sparkles even when it interrupts my plans. I allow it to decorate my life. I sit beside a window for prayer time. I thank God for pink and blue and amber sprinkles under streetlights. I grab a camera and stick head (if not sliding feet) out the front door. I appreciate the hush of city sounds.
Snow is, to me, the gentleness of God trumping the clamor of man. In the darkest months of the year, the ones in which we might feel starved for light - that's when snow comes to brighten our paths.
And if it’s there, I may as well enjoy the view.
“Praise the Lord... fire and hail, snow and mist, storm winds that fulfill His word…” (Psalm 148:7-8)
(photo © Nancy Shuman)
(photo © Nancy Shuman)
