THE SNOWS

I had predicted we would have a snowless winter, or just a couple meager dustings. I grew smug as December and January passed, and my  prophesy was proving accurate. By early February, I had grown downright arrogant. This would prove to be Wisconsin’s all-time wimpiest Winter. Late February. It all changed.

We got one blast of wet white after another. 6 – 8 inches. 8 – 10 inches. Well over a foot of perfect packing snow. Snowman builder’s heaven. The first was beautiful. A frosting of jumbo flakes. The second was a real branch drooper, and the snow sat upon a sea of ice. It was treacherous. The third was sudden and a shocker. It hit hard. Lots of drift creating wind, and frigid temperatures. This last one, the third by mid-March, was a bombardment of horizontal bullets. It yielded only a shrug from onlookers, and a few sad sighs in hopes that Easter would not be whiter than Christmas.

If the truth be told, we need these snows. Badly. We need to have something to complain about when Spring comes. We need to have faced a few wintry battles, so that we can fully celebrate the joy of buds and blossoms. We need to be tested – and pass. We need to still think of ourselves as frontier warriors. We need to claim the roots and rights of being a Midwesterner. No amount of snow is too much for us. No temperature too low. No wind chill too frigid.

I needed these snows for another reason. I needed to behold their raw beauty. I needed to soak in their sweet silence. I needed the gentle shroud of silence they always drape over my troubled innards. Snow yields peace in me. Calms the chaos. Makes me feel glad to be home. Cozy. Grounded. Rooted to this good earth and this good life.

Each storm has been lovely. All the mud and muck coated in milk. The greys and blacks trimmed in a crisp clean bright white. The earth shimmering. The sun bouncing about off of the diamond drifts. It is like staring into the face of Grace. Pure. Unconditional. Erasing the ugly. Becoming an almost blinding light. Life coated in a second chance. A snow which loves and forgives with the intensity of a Gospel.

There is a message in these snows. Slow down. Pay attention. Notice. This too shall pass. All will be well. Life is unfolding as planned. We are beloved. Cherished. Adored. Our lives are held in God’s palm. Our days are a chance to create God’s Kingdom. Our time is simply eternity in disguise. No matter how bleak or barren, a fresh snow speaks to us of  Life’s goodness, and our own, and how much God believes in us.

I look out now. It is snowing again this morning. There are tiny tornadoes skipping all about, doing a crazy ballet atop the many inches of frozen snow. The trees and bushes are being etched white again. The sky droops and drops its cottony contents.

My heart smiles. My soul stirs. I go to my office and choose a good book. I make a large hot cup of coffee. I snuggle under an afghan and begin to read. Wondering if we will have any signs of Spring by April. Or – will this be Wisconsin’s first year without a Spring?