As anticipated, we were out of school Thursday - and now Friday as well.
My New England friends tease me unmercifully - which I understand, on one hand. On the other hand, I remember how differently equipped they are up in the North for the likes of this.
Really, there wasn't much snow, but it was ill-timed for school buses and has been SOOOO cold here that it didn't melt on contact - nor will it in the next day or so, by my estimations.
My kids had a blast. They dressed themselves and headed out. I leashed the dog and joined them for a picture or two. A few times I thought to myself how little they truly "get" SNOW. Yes, they know what it is, but have never experienced more than an inch or so of it. They've never had snowbanks to tunnel through, or enough snow to consider building an igloo. A snowball or two and a small snowman if they were lucky, but *real* snow.... never.
It was pretty and all, and I was grateful to have a day "off", but it kinda muddles up plans for Friday. Apparantly, God has other plans. (I just hope it will be gone by Monday.)
Yet, it was while I was making supper that it tugged at my heart strings. As I glanced out over the frozen road through the window above my sink, I was reminded of a similar road. I was reminded of a very, very peaceful time in high school.
My senior year, I would run to school in the mornings. The lighting of the sun set reminded me of my sunrise runs. The mornings when there was fresh snow on the ground, were my favorite. Everything was quiet and still. Often the moon would still be visible in the sky, and the snowbanks would twinkle in it's light. My sneakers would squeak and crunch as each step brought me the half-mile closer to the school building.
It was peaceful and joyful, and most definitely God-filled.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment