I awoke around midnight one evening in December, crept out of bed, and peeked out the loft window facing the street. All was quiet. No cars passed, no breeze rustled the trees. The pavement below glowed faintly under the street lamp.
Again, around two, the same tiptoe trip to the window. Same view; same stillness.
No, I was not watching for Santa. I was watching for snow.
The last snowfall this Floridian witnessed was thirty-eight years ago. So during a rare Christmas visit to Ohio, when snow was forecast during the early hours of one morning, I didn’t want to miss it.
The third time I awoke, around three o’clock, my trip to the window was rewarded. In the dim light, I could make out large flakes falling fast and straight.
As much as I anticipated its arrival, now I looked forward to the accumulation that had been forecasted: at least several inches.
Sure enough, the pale light of morning revealed a world transformed. Each tree branch, even every twig, appeared iced in white frosting.
And yet more snow was falling. Now the flakes were lighter and smaller, drifting gently and softly to the ground.
Donning my coat, I slipped out to the front porch, and extended my arm. Soon I had a lovely collection of tiny star-shaped flakes on my sleeve. Delicate displays of lacy symmetry. Each one a magical wonder.
The next day, under a crystalline blue sky, we rode through a nearby cemetery where the snow created an even more stunning display. Hillsides, ancient trees, and tangles of bushes were majestically trimmed in sparkling white. Frozen ponds glistened subtly, like great pearls. By contrast, the streams twinkled, as if crystals had been laid out on rippling, steel-gray silk. I oohed and aahed at every turn.
Those of you who experience snow every winter may not be so enthusiastic. There’s a dark side to the white stuff! Bundling up in extra clothing for outdoors, then shedding the layers for indoors. Slow, snarled traffic. Shoveling. Scraping off the car.
But, oh, the beauty! The splendor!
“He spreads the snow like wool and scatters the frost like ashes” (Psalm 147:16)
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Thank you, O God, for the glorious wonders of your winter creation. I marvel that you design each tiny snowflake unique from all others. How mind-boggling to consider the millions of flakes required to cover just one tree, much less a forest or a whole region. And I marvel at your artistry with just one color—white!
How great and glorious you are, the almighty Creator and Sustainer of the universe! How awe-inspiring to know you are also our loving Heavenly Father. And that same awesome power that paints winter-white landscapes is at work in our lives, creating the beauty of holiness. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
From the Inside Out 