We had snow here in middle Tennessee yesterday. It's a pretty rare occurrence; like it or not, we do live in the (fairly deep) south. I'm made acutely aware on a regular basis of how much a lot of individuals here don't like it. I can't say that I blame them -- if you've ever lost control of your car driving in the snow then you probably take a more sympathetic ear than I do. I, however, love the stuff. It makes me feel like a kid again. I've told Hope on several occasions about where I grew up in Nashville -- we lived at the bottom of a big hill, and so we could just walk out our front door, drag the sled up to the top of 23rd Avenue, aim it straight down the street, and hurtle down to the bottom. If we were tired of sledding, we merely dragged our sled back to the back yard, walked in the back door, and then we'd sit by the fireplace and dry off. If we had enough snow to sled, we wouldn't have school the next day, trust me, so there was no need to worry about getting to bed on time.
I'm not always the biggest fan of sappy allegories or analogies. However, as I grow older and spend time growing closer to my children, I'm made more and more "sappy", shall I say. I have crazy thoughts go through my head all the time, and I'm always wishing that I had a way to jot these things down. I'm working on that a bit, and so while it's not always practical to just carry around a notepad or something, at least I have this blog, and so I can run in and start posting some things down as I think of them. This is a roundabout way of explaining that yesterday while I was constructing the WBS (World's Biggest Snowman) in the front yard with Hope, I started thinking of how a snowfall in middle Tennessee is a good allegory (is that the correct word?) for what I feel about my children. . .
Snow, like children, comes upon me not every day, but often with eager anticipation. There's something simplistically beautiful about it. I admire how beautiful it is, and I seemingly can never look at it enough without being at least at little amazed by it. It take me to a simpler, more childlike time in my mind, heart, and spirit. I do things in its presence that I rarely, if ever, get to do. Each snowflake is unique, as is each child. It's only here for precious little time, and then just as quickly, it's gone. I'm often guilty of being at least a little frustrated by it, but there's also a part of me that wishes it would never go away. As I get older, I find myself wishing for just a little more time to spend with it, and a more open and perceptive and listening heart while I'm playing with it. I could of course go on and on, but that's enough for any person with a heart to get the picture.
Simply put, I am so thankful, so very thankful, for what God teaches me through my children. I wouldn't trade anything for the opportunity to spend just one more day with each of them. Thank you, thank you, God. And thanks for the beautiful, glorious, youthful exuberence - inducing snow.
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