Two weeks ago, I was terrified in the walk-in clinic waiting room.
One week ago, I thought I was dying from first trimester misery.
Three days ago, I felt like a new woman when I joined once more with my church family.
Yesterday, I had my second unexpected wave of internet “fame” this year after one of my favorite authors, Jen Hatmaker, shared my social media etiquette post and my site stats immediately exploded.
Last night, I didn’t need to wear a coat it was so nice.
And this morning, I woke up to…
That’s a picture of my backyard from my bedroom window.
All that to say, life is absolutely nuts, and you just never know what a day is going to bring.
But as we have observed together over the past two years on this blog, no matter what a day brings, and no matter what you’re going through, there is a level of beauty and abundance when life is lived according to the Word of God and when you are covered by the blood and grace of Jesus Christ.
Especially on snow days.
Miss Sunday and I woke up slowly this morning after one of the craziest nights of sleep our family has ever
endured experienced. After hearing her bare feet patter out of my room (Miss Sunday does not pitter) and into the completely windowed laundry room, I heard her gasp.
“Mom!” she reverently breathed. “It’s snowing!!”
I let this knowledge sink into my very fuzzy and sleepy brain. They had forecasted snow. But I never believed it would actually happen…
We had been waiting for this moment for two long years, as forecast after forecast has left my kids disappointed, none greater than the Christmas Day powdering we were almost certainly supposed to receive. (We didn’t).
Miss Sunday had been a wee little tyke the last time she had really played in the snow, and I had looked forward to this moment all winter.
Although I will admit, my excitment was immediately tempered by the thought that I would be spending the next two hours or so dressing and undressing three children and mopping up melted snow from my entryway. But this is motherhood. I should have gotten over these things long ago.
After I peeled the cobwebs out of my brain and eyeballs, Gid, Sunday and I bounded up the stairs to retrieve Baby Betsie from her crib. I don’t know who was more atwitter about introducing her to the white world that awaited her, but I’m pretty sure it was the big, pregnant lady with the frizzy hair (who has a heart of gold, by the way). Standing in front of the large double window in their nursery, all four of us ooohed and aaahed, and Gideon noted that “God must have decided to do something nice for us since we pray to Him all the time.”
“He must have!” I agreed. “We should thank Him.”
“Thank you, God!” Gideon yelled out the window.
“Thank you, God!” his sister copied, before adding, “I LOVE you!”
One cup of coffee and a “Peppa Pig” episode later we were scrambling around like crazy people, flinging hats and mittens and scarves and long johns all over the place in our haste to be ready to play by the time Papa made it up the hill to watch us. I had one driving motivation: we had to make it out there before the fat flakes tapered off or I would be a miserable failure of a mother who cares more about coffee than children.
And by jove…we succeeded!
Once ready, I surveyed my handiwork.
Be still my heart.
Do you remember days like this? Getting all bundled up with your siblings? Being so excited that God sent you a gift from the sky? Having nothing else on your entire horizon except enjoying what was right in front of your face?
Sweet, precious childhood. My favorite of all created things.
It was the most perfect snow I’ve ever seen, the kind that makes building snowmen and creating snowballs as easy as pie. And the giant, fluffly flakes that fell down as my kids played were like something out of Narnia.
If only we had a lamppost and a Faun.
Oh, well. Maybe next year.
Miss Sunday approved of her new winter playground.
And Baby Betsie reached up in wonder to touch the flakes that were landing gently onto our porch…
before swiftly deciding that, just like she doesn’t care for swimming pools and sprinklers, she doesn’t care for snow.
In fact, she hates it.
But she loves her Papa.
As unique and particular are the difficulties of life in the ministry, so are the perks, one of which being that Papa can come play in the snow with us while the time is right.
He may have to work on Saturday now, but…how could we have missed this morning with him by our side?
(Please excuse the dirty, grouchy snowman who is still staring at me through our office window. I think he wants to kill me…).
I will share more funny things about our playtime tomorrow, but for now, I’ll conclude with this: by the time they had shucked all their wet clothes and only long john bottoms remained, my eldest children were wound up. Drinking hot chocolate and eating grilled cheese sandwiches right in front of the fireplace topped off what must have been to them the perfect morning…
And If they don’t fully realize it now, they will. The only reason we have days like this is because God is good and His mercy endures forever.
We know who butters our bread…
and who sends us our snow.
Thank you, God, for all of it.
And I’d like to give a hearty “welcome!” to everyone who joined up with Mrs. Gore’s Diary yesterday! Your kind words and comments just absolutely made my day, and I am so very glad to have you along.
Want to read about more of our snow adventures? Here is one of my first (and favorite) posts: How to Survive When Snowbound