The season’s first real snow made a grand entrance Saturday, greasing the skids with a sheen of ice, then sliding in with a howling wind that lasted all night. We woke Sunday to three or four inches of snow – it’s hard to tell because of the drifting – no church because of the ice, below zero temps, and a brilliant, blue sky.
Our kids had it worse. Anne emailed Saturday to say they were snowed in. Allen called Saturday afternoon with a similar report, their second snowed in Saturday in two weeks. “I still haven’t done my Christmas shopping,” he said.
We talked about what we want to do as a family when he and Abbey, Kailen and Anne are here for a long New Year’s weekend when we’ll celebrate Christmas. Sunday, the conversation was repeated during a phone call with Anne. Our children’s voices conveyed eagerness and anticipation of some quiet family time together, something in short supply this past year with its crowded schedule of weddings and reunions.
I hung up the phone, keenly aware of the grace surrounding our family on this snowy, dangerous weekend and the festivities to come. Some years ago, our family circumstances required us to relinquish every dream of a simple family Christmas with both our children. Unexpectedly and miraculously, in the past two years that dream has abundantly restored beyond our wildest imaginings.
So today I look outside at the bleak landscape, all bare trees and hard sunshine, and think about our gathering to come. I hesitate and ask. “God, is it too much for me to ask for a weather favor? Could a blizzard hit once they are safely here? Could we all be snowed in together?”
