God tipped the snowglobe, and let flakes fall fresh and fast and furious. He frosted our fields and homes like an earthen cake. We’re encased in a sub-zero orb of white — where I can barely make out the line separating land from sky. Southern-sky sundogs are the candles on this cake.
I haven’t left the house in four days. My favorite farmer brings the tractor to move the snow — this is what we harvest on January days in Iowa — but the wind retaliates by blowing thick white fingers over plowed passageways.
So we wrap ourselves in a weeklong pajama party, and look out windows, and watch our world blow wild atop a downy cover.
The phone rings, and it’s my oldest sister. I catch my breath.
How will she get home in this? Surely she won’t drive, and the younger sister wonders if the older one will listen.
Her plane is due in the city at 1:00 p.m. but, she asks, are the roads good enough to make it home?
We tell her no, no. No!
But if she could just get here,
if she could just make it the thirty miles from runway to driveway
through drifts on the road out front and
up our long country lane
we’d have a warm place waiting for her.
So we pray and wait. And the farmer cuts another path up to the house.
Soon, our door swings open, and in comes the warmth of a sister. And we embrace in the answered prayer. She’s here.
She’s come in from the cold — this wildly beautiful white world decorated from heavenly storehouses.
And together, we do what God did: We frost our world.
“May the favor of the Lord rest upon us;
establish the work of our hands for us —
yes, establish the work of our hands.
— Psalm 90:17
This weekend, may you throw off the cold, and wrap in the warmth of God’s favor. If you’re snowed in like we are, may He wildly bless the work of your hands. And if you’re not snowed in? Well, … may He do the same!
Now go … frost your world.
My love to you, warm-hearted friends …