I would really like some snow. Please.

taken from Metal Cowboy's Flickr stream

It will not snow.

I need snow. It’s sort of like one of those mermaid movies where the mermaid (who has recently turned into a human, obviously), hasn’t been around water recently, so her gills have started to reappear, except instead of being iridescent green, they’re now a sort of sickish gray.

My snow gills are gray.

We’ve had a few flurries, and I heard a rumor that there was actual snow in downtown Chicago last week, but I’ve seen almost nothing in the suburbs.

There is a growing flock of Canada geese who, instead of continuing south like reasonable birds, are taking over the parking lot at work. They think they’ve found their tropical paradise.

I went Christmas shopping on Michigan Avenue last Saturday, and I did not need a coat.

I’ve been watching the weather reports, and we’ve had a few snow storms predicted, but nothing’s materialized.

I’m starting to get anxious.

You know how after the Flood, God sent a rainbow as a promise that he’d never destroy the world that way again? Snow is sort of my rainbow. Give me a minute: I know I’m not making meteorological sense.

I’ve always loved snow. I was always happy to see it, no matter what time of year it happened to fall. But it wasn’t until a few years ago that it became as important to me as it is now.

It was my senior year at Moody, and I think I had just done badly on a test. I know that’s not really the end of the world, but I was miserable. I felt like I had wasted opportunities and time and like God had given me this gift of an education and I had squandered it. I left class, and instead of heading back to work at the yearbook office, I left campus. It had started to snow that morning, and there were already a few inches on the ground. I was wearing little fabric shoes and my feet were soaked almost immediately, but I had to walk.

I walked faster and faster, and as I walked I counted every mistake I had made in the past four years. Every missed opportunity and broken friendship and wasted moment. The faster I walked, the more mistakes I could remember. I was overwhelmed.

I stopped.

The snowflakes were huge. Nickel-sized. When I stood still, I could watch the snow on the ground get deeper. I was used to the noise of the city, the sounds of the traffic and people. But with that much snow, all those sounds were muffled. It was 2pm on a weekday in Chicago, and the whole city was silent. Everything, the wrought iron fences, the street lamps, the buildings, was covered in snow.

That was when I realized that if God could silence and transform a whole city with just a little frozen water, then there was nothing that I could do that he couldn’t make beautiful by covering it with a layer of redemption.

I could breathe again. I watched the snow for a few more minutes, then I went inside and put on dry socks.

Snow is my rainbow and my ebenezer and my reminder of what the Gospel means.

I am tired.  And I could use a refresher course on redemption. And I would really like it if it would snow.

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  1. Hey Jesse!!
    I just randomly saw this post of yours and I just want to saw how beautiful it was. It was very encouraging to me… And the Lord has definitely given you a gift in being able to move people by your words. Love you and miss you!

    • Hooray! It’s so hard to find people that agree with me on that.

      You can be me if I get to be you for a little bit. 🙂

  2. OK love this…just love it…………………..uh…………………….hhmmmm……….still don’t love snow tho!!

  3. Actually, I think God does that same for me but with waves at the beach. My mistakes are in the sand and he just keeps smoothing them out……….I like the warmer version better.

  4. Mmmm I really love this. It is beautiful and brings me back to snow in the city and the muted streets. It really was a miracle, every time.

    And I love your mom’s comment. 🙂