One day it was fall, the next morning we awoke to winter. A world of brown suddenly transformed to a world of white. Just like that.
My oldest daughter came walking out of her bedroom, eyes sparkling. “It’s SNOWTIME, Mommy!!!”
My two-year-old, upon being lifted up to a window so she could see, exclaimed in wide-eyed, sincere amazement, “Oh. My. Goodness.”
It was wonderful.
I love how every year the beauty of winter manages to take me by surprise, evoking the same kind of childish wonder in my soul that I saw on my children’s faces.
I could hardly wait until later, when I was finally able to slip on my skis and go out into it. I glided over the unbroken surface, daring to cut a crisp twin track through the artful riffles of drifting snow. The evening star winked at me in the lavender sky above the snowy pines, and the lake, still unfrozen, glimmered pale gold and pink—and silently I breathed thanks for the glory of a new season.
And for something else, too, because there were two things to be thankful for, really. The pure clean snow, yes—but, even more, how it symbolized the state of my heart.
“…though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool.“ (Isaiah 1:18)
Once upon a time, my heart was stained with sin, glaring crimson as the most brilliant maples of autumn—but then came the day I gave it all to Christ, and the transformation was just as sudden and wonderful as this overnight advent of winter.
I’m sure it will come as a surprise to no one that my days this summer have been a lot less about taking photos of nature and writing about them, and a lot more about taking photos of a certain darling little lady and writing in my journal about her first smiles or the first time she slept through the night.
“How precious is your steadfast love, O God! 
The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings…
They feast on the abundance of your house, and you give them drink from the river of your delights…
For with you is the fountain of life; in your light do we see light.” (Psalm 36:7-9)
We were standing at the edge of a steep bank. Late afternoon sunlight slanted gold through pine branches over our heads, highlighting the moist hummocks of brilliant green moss creeping along the slanting forest floor. Below us, a river, satiated with a deluge of rapidly melting snow, rushed it’s wild, joyful way down to bigger waters.
The music of its abundant fullness reminded me of this verse:
I’m sitting here, gazing out the window, watching lazy flakes drift to the ground, gently highlighting the forms of dark spruce across the field. It seems strange that they’re forecasting temperatures above freezing for the next couple weeks, which means our world of white may soon be turning to soggy brown. But it’s March, after all, that indecisive in-between month that (where I live) is never quite winter, never quite spring.
L
Rejoicing Hills 