I’d been working on something else, but it seems today is the day for my annual snow post. (That is, it has sometimes been a snow post, and sometimes a non-snow post.) You can’t argue with nature. Flakes started falling outside the church windows as our pastor began preaching this morning and by the benediction there were four inches of soft white crystals frosting the world. You are meant to draw no conclusions about the length of his very good sermon but instead about the rapidity in which our town was transformed. When we exited the building I was in a hurry to run home for a broom and get busy clearing cars in the parking lot, for all who haven’t the delight of residing on the church grounds as I have. I grabbed Norah’s hand and took off–and she began laughing the most musical chuckles of joy, like something was suddenly tickling her in the ribs. She rejoiced in the crisp beauty of the snowfall, dancing her way home exclaiming about snowmen and snowballs and snow angels and her new snowpants. Delaware, apparently, doesn’t generally get snow like this. While I was sweeping off cars a native informed me that they haven’t seen a snow like this in about four years. Perhaps God sent it just for Norah–to make up for the . . . memorable first snowfall last year.
Here’s the troops. My children prize the snow like the hungry Israelites did manna. They each ate at least an omer of it, and were constantly thinking of what could be made from it. I’m surprised Harriet left any on the ground. In fact, after she stomped in for hot chocolate she was still eating bits off of the floor and the bottoms of her boots.
The thing is, it’s so fresh to them. We have had so little snow in the last few years. The English, never prone to exaggeration, keep their winters as reasonably in their place as they do everything else. Or perhaps snow is always miraculous to children, who look at the world with eyes unused to its amazing extremes of color and temperature.
We did sustain one small tragedy, as seen below. (And yes, she cried when her mitten fell off, and yes, I did take a picture of her doing so before coming to the rescue.) Harriet’s mittens have no thumbs, which seriously impairs any mischief she has in mind. The only problem with this is that she won’t want to wear them in the summer also.
(Mischief? This little angel?)
This post is lovingly dedicated to Cara, Ginger, and Sonja–three wall-jumpers who won’t see snowy scenes this Christmas, who are serving daily in hot and difficult places. So grateful for you, may our God who sees you bless you richly.