Hey, It's Snowing!

Sunday morning.  The Passenger was up early, to prepare this household's traditional Thanksgiving feast for those who remain.  She was having a hard time feeling thankful.  Actually, she would be glad to skip the next six weeks or so and land right in January.  Rather than a celebration, holidays magnify the loss felt every day of the year.

But guilt swam around in her brain as well.  While she assembled lunch dishes in the kitchen, she made conscious effort to list things for which to be thankful.  Emotionally exhausting, but necessary, it was.  This tension between allowing grief its due and the need to count her blessings for the good of her spirit, was ever present. 

Hours later, the Trucker sat by, waiting for the last minute touches to be completed.  Randomly, he checked facebook. 

Hey, it's snowing in __________, he said.  I'm jealous, she said.  In her heart, Lord, I would so love to see snow, she said.

And then they were off.  To join a crowd of worshipers on this damp and rainy November morning.

Midway through the service, from their spot near the end of a bench, the Trucker tapped her arm and gestured discreetly toward the window a few feet away.

Snow.  Large, moist flakes mingled with the rain.  White, fluffy answers to the longing in her heart.  Large, moist tears mingled with the song on her lips, blurring her vision and her voice.

Such a simple thing.  But such an evidence of care from the Creator.  She whispered in the Trucker's ear, Could you snap a few photos with no one noticing?  Smiling, he shook his head slightly.  She understood.  Sometimes celebrating God's answers would be a distraction to the worship of others.

To her left, a small boy with more wiggles than his body could contain.  Standing on the bench beside his father to see over the heads of other singers, the snow reached his field of vision.

"Hey, it's SNOWING!"  His spontaneous exclamation rolled across the sanctuary.  Heads turned.  Smiles broke out.  Was it her imagination, or did their expressions of worship and thankfulness gain a bit of momentum?

The rain eased away, and the snow intensified.  The service proceeded decently and in order.  They needed to leave, then, earlier than most.  Driving away, the Trucker handed her his phone.  On it, photos of the snow falling outside the window, after all.

He understood her unspoken desire.  Snow was such a small thing, really.  And it could be argued that the storm, moving eastward, would just naturally reach them, regardless.  But only He controlled the temperatures, the winds.  And He heard the cry of her heart.

Such a simple thing, really.  For the God of the universe to hear, to reach down with His finger.  To whisper into her heart.  I AM here.  I AM still here.

And in that, she rests.