Snow

I love snow. No really, I LOVE snow. It makes me grin and my heart light. Everyone at work complains about it and the mess it creates (granted, I drive through it like a grandma and hate all the car accidents that seem to follow it)-- I smile and don't really say anything because deep down I can't wait till it falls again. It's the freshest thing from Heaven next to new babies. When it falls, the whole world goes silent, the birds and city life too. It's magical and if that sounds strange to you, you've just grown up too much. How awesome is it that little puffs of white float around from the sky? It's the best when there's enough to lightly cover everything. Garbage and old cars, naked trees and ugly NJ houses become beautiful--good enough for a cover pic on Martha Stewart's magazine. One of my earliest memories is having my mom wake me up early, bundle me up and take me outside to 'see' the snow. Mind you, being from Agusta, GA there wasn't anything to play in, only enough to simply 'see' and I had to 'see' it early because it would surely melt away at sunrise.

But I really, really love how it compares with my Jesus. Psalm 51:7 says, "wash me and I shall be whiter than snow." Mmmm... Jesus, that is good. The snow is falling now and if I hold my breath I can hear it outside the window. It's coating all the junk next to my garage and the neighbor's mack truck, turning rubbish to beauty. That's what Christ sees when he looks at my heart, no thanks to anything I've done or deserve. Instead of selfishness and sin, He sees white. Amazing. Grace. Snow. No, whiter and purer than snow. And the coolest thing is that unlike my first memory of the magical stuff, His washing doesn't melt away. There is nothing that I did to deserve this purity nor anything that can be done to negate it.

So, tomorrow morning as I inch to work going all of 24 miles an hour and customers whine about the inconvenience. I'll quietly share in the joy of local school kids and worship the Creator of snow.

The blessing by faith, I receive from above;
Oh, glory! my soul is made perfect in love;
My prayer has prevailed, and this moment I know,
The blood is applied, I am whiter than snow. - James L. Nicholson, 1872