Sneaky Snow

Snow is sneaky. His cousin rain comes a-thumping, bumping, flashing and a-crashing, a sort of wet Beethoven's Fifth symphony on steroids. But snow comes quietly. Millions of the little fellows parachute in during the night, keeping absolute radio silence. They all settle into their places without a word, waiting for the signal. The cloud bombers move on, just as the other conspirator peeks over the horizon. They hear you moving around in the house and if you could understand snowflake language you might hear, 'Okay, guys! Get ready, here he comes.” When you finally pull back the curtain, millions of flakes all yell in unison, 'Surprise!” And for an instant you're stirred inside, even if you don't like snow. Snow is a pain but it's almost worth it for that morning greeting, as well as the finishing touch it adds to the top of pine trees, and the Christmas-card look it gives to a winter landscape. Even ugly places seem beautiful when snow buries them.

Lots of things that God does seem quiet and out of the way, until the seed grows into His great will. See the Bethlehem manger for confirmation. At this writing (last Sunday morning) we've got a landscape full of snow in north central France and more on the way according to those who are never wrong--the weather predictors on television (this last phrase is read with a slight note of sarcasm). Before I gripe anymore about cold, wet feet, artic temperatures, hazardous driving conditions, and blah, blah, blah ... I want to stop. Thanks Lord for the snow. It sure is beautiful. And thanks Lord for my Coffee Stains friends. Their feedback and interaction put a lot of joy in my life. Merry Christmas friends.

"And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord." Luke 2:10-12

Hmmm ... "Christmas--that magic blanket that wraps itself about us, that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance. It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance--a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved." ~ Augusta E. Rundell