My town is covered in a thick, white blanket this morning and it looks so beautiful to me. In the wee hours before anyone's disturbed it, it's a perfect, glistening covering that takes my breath away.
And maybe it's because I went to college in northeastern Wisconsin, where I experienced some of my lifetime's deepest spiritual growth but snow always, always deeply resonates in my heart. Snow is my perfect visual metaphor of God's perfect grace...it covers all, fully. And even when it's disturbed you can still see it there. Even when it's sullied and ground beneath our trampling, it's still there. Even when we shun it, and try to move it out of our way, it's still there...looming large on the periphery, waiting for us to climb atop it and see the world from a higher perspective. Sometimes it comes down in large, fluffy chunks that look like bits of pillow in your hand. Sometimes it comes down almost imperceptibly, gently kissing your cheeks with a little reminder that winter is bigger than you. Sometimes the conditions aren't right for it yet, and it doesn't stick to the ground. That never stops it from trying again. Sometimes it's poured down on us so heavily we can't believe it. And then Spring comes, and as the cover of white melts away, it brings verdant new life. Tulips and daffodils spring up, their blossoms heralding the first signs of warmer, sunny days ahead.
But it all starts with snow, that perfect and pure blanket of truth that covers my world and reminds me how grace covers me and all imperfections in me completely, as far as the eye can see.
We need to wake up, get out, and go play in the grace. I mean snow.