The tempest comes out from its
chamber, the cold from the driving winds. The breath of God produces
ice, and the broad waters become frozen.
Job 37:9-10
I paused for
a moment, mittened hands resting on the stem of the shovel, listening.
The trees
across the road wailed and moaned as they swayed in restless agitation. Above
me the air sang in full-throated three-part dissonance. Pellet snowflakes beat
against the back of my hood, tip-tapping in desperate syncopation, begging to
get in and warm themselves in my hair.
The weather
app on my handy-dandy phone said it was four degrees, with a wind chill of
negative eleven.
It was
magnificent.
I suppose
that after twenty Michigan winters I may be seeing things a little differently.
But I’m new here. To this great-plains Illinois girl, a northern winter is pure
magic.
My daily
walks with the dog take me into the winter woods. Ice-cold air fills my lungs with crispness as
I tromp along snowshoe-packed paths, mouth agape at the beauty of snow-heavy
branches. The soft white undercarpet is criss-crossed with the prints of little
and big animal feet, leading off enticingly into the trees.
And then
there’s the lake. If you have seen it your whole life you may not notice this,
but….it freezes over!!! The whole lake!!! Well, not the whole thing, I guess,
but as far as the eye can see. To a non-great-lakes native, that’s utterly
astounding. I could look at it for hours, my eyes tracing the cones and ridges
and lighting up with sparkles at the sight of blue ice.
As February
gets underway, there is the temptation to wish winter away and hurry toward
spring. Sure. Winter can be cold. But there is so much about it that is good.
The kids stumping
up the mountain ranges in front of the house, tumbling into their sleds and
zooming down the small hills and across the icy driveway.
The five
robins – five!! robins!!! – that were playing in the tree over my head
yesterday.
New white
snow tingling on your nose and dissolving on your tongue like cotton candy. The
fffwip, fffwip of snow pants.
Skeletons of
trees, and the texture of bark. The smell of the neighbor’s wood stove. Diamonds
in wind-sculpted snow.
The nearer
nearness of stars. The one thirty a.m. blast of cold when you take the dog out
to go potty; being able to crawl back under the covers.
Muscle memory
returning after a few turns around the skating rink, and the pleasurable
realization that you still remember something that was important to you back in
those days when you were young.
Absolute
quiet suddenly and joyously filled by the giggle of a chickadee.
My dog
bounding exuberantly through the snowdrifts. Shadows that stretch for miles. Deer
flitting between trees.
The unspeakable
satisfaction of kicking a clump of snow out of your wheel well. Brushing the
snow off of a stranger’s windshield.
A scarf full
of warm breath. The sound of boots stomping in the entryway. Spoons clinking
against mugs full of hot cocoa and marshmallows.
Oh, winter,
winter. You are such a gift.
Our creator
has given us a world full of good, good things. They are gifts, every one of
them.
But
sometimes…
We miss His gifts
sometimes. We see only that it’s cold out – the kind of cold that chills us
from the inside. Our heart-hurts and our roadblocks fill our eyes and blind us
to the beauty and joy which our Heavenly Father lays before us each day. Frozen
in the midst of a tempest, we can only say, “Ah, but I’m cold….I’m so cold.”
But the gifts
are still there. Our loving Father holds out the world He has made, the life He
has given us, and says, “Take a look. See what I have done because I love you?”
And then He takes us to a hill and shows us His greatest gift. He points up, up
to the heart of Someone who cares about us enough to come out into the cold to
get us. The gentle warmth of His Son melts the ice around our heart and lets in
the light until we can once again see diamonds in the snow and hear ourselves
breathe in the still, crisp air.
Winter. Gift
after gift. God grant that my eyes may remain open to all the good that He has
given me.
And God
grant, when my neighbor is standing out in the cold, that I might be the one to
bring him a blanket.
First published in The Alpena News, February 8, 2014
