snow

It truly is the best thing.

Flakes falling, painting the streets white, hushing the buzz of a hectic city, forcing cars and people to slow down, punishing those who don’t. Liberating school children and making children of us all. Snow is the best thing.

This past Saturday night was one of those lucky nights. I happily walked block after block as snowflakes fell against my face. The only thing stopping me from holding my permanent toothy smile as I walked through the night was that the cold wind hurt my exposed smiley teeth. So, I closed my lips. But inside, the grin stood firm, happy, full. I’ve always been that way. I’ve always held snow as my favorite thing.

Some people go to mountains or beaches or waterfalls to see the hand of God, to feel closer to him, to feel in his presence. For me, it is snow. I watch the winter forecasts hoping always for more snow. I’m greedy because I always want more. I’m angry when spring comes with perky flowers and intolerable warmth. And I’m furious when people complain about more snow.

But, in the perfect snowy moment, like this past Saturday night, I’m not fixed on the evil spring or awful snow haters. I’m fixed on the present miracle at hand: Flakes falling from the sky. I pull on my warm socks, my boots, my hat, my gloves, my coat, my scarf, my toothy grin and I’m off. The quiet is remarkable. I live in the city yet in the midst of the snow, I turn corner after corner to encounter a perfect dark hushed night. I hear the swoosh of my arms gliding back and forth. I hear the crunch underneath each boot step. I hear muffled breath from behind my scarf. I hear muddled thumps of flakes rhythmically hitting my hood and hat. I’m not even headed anywhere specific. I’m just headed. And, in this place, like nothing else, I feel ridiculously happy. And in those snowy moments, I feel like I’m headed directly into the arms of God.