February 16, 2014
Do you ever have a moment that you know in your mind you are sharing with a million people but deep in your heart, you feel it was really meant for you alone? A firework bursting can be seen by thousands but what if you, in that moment, were the only one who needed to?
That's how I feel about the recent snow.
It had been fifteen years since they've seen a similar weather pattern hit the Carolinas (so the newsman said...) and this time it was spreading from Georgia all the way north past New York. We sat at home on the first of three essential-staff-only snow days, watching the TV as one by one all the southern state governors declared a state of emergency. The flakes floating down outside were big, fat and beautiful, while the reporters on the screen were loud, sharp and terrified. We were told to prepare for power outages, to ration our food, get all of our blankets and please, dear God if anything, don't go out on the roads.
Like good little citizens, we obeyed, and spent most of those three days watching movies, reading books, working on house renovations, and admiring the snow outside as it piled higher and higher. By evening on day two, we still had not seen a single snowplow push down our street, but why should we when tomorrow's snow day was eagerly announced at ten o'clock in the morning and the news unceasingly displayed the whited-out highways that couldn't seem to be cleared?
The National Guard they brought in had better things to attend to at the moment than our little neighborhood.
Little do they understand, I believe this all may have been for me.
Why? Because the Lord wanted to show me how quickly he can melt an ice-cold heart back to flesh.
Friday morning we woke up to a sunny, snowy wonderland, our two best friends with a four wheel drive jeep and not well heated home sleeping upstairs in our loft, also being awakened by a bright golden sun. We chatted over breakfast near a window, squinting at the rays demanding entrance through the blinds. Dan and I lamented over it being Valentine's day and how we would most likely be stuck inside again, but smiled when we found we were able to take the car out for a mid-day coffee run. And by the time evening came, a lovely date and our favorite restaurant calling our names, we drove down shining, wet, and absolutely clear roads, a smirking sunset fading in the distance. Saturday was again gloriously golden, and soon the only remnants of our state-of-emergency were the giant snow piles and a few snowman bottoms. It took over a week to prepare for yet only two days to destroy. Completely. The sun feeling betrayed by the way we doubted his rays.
Suddenly, the Carolinas were back, a fifteen year spell broken and erased so quickly it's hard to remember it ever happened at all. But we do remember the sun, warm and bold, prepared to deliver us from our outages and rations, and the great wave of hope that emerged when we saw the first sign of light.
My God works in wonderful, mysterious ways. My God can cover half of a country in a blanket of white and lift it off again faster than any snowplow, salt truck, and neighbor boy with a big shovel combined.
My God clears damages and restores to perfection. With immediacy. Who am I then to believe he cannot do the same with my heart? Who am I to say the sun is not bright enough to cast away all the demons I've kept hidden within? No matter how trapped I feel under the deep, heavy snow, no matter how icy the top layer becomes, he can break through. He will break through.
Because he is the redeemer and healer. And he restores my soul.
And when I'm walking once again down the shining, clear street, there will be no stains left on me from the mess I was just in. No wet clothes to pull down on my skin, no black slush to fling up from my feet, no trace at all of the state-of-emergency for my heart.
But the on beautiful thing I'll be able to recall is the warm, glorious light that so cleansed me of it all.
Happy Spring!
Agape,
CC
Here's some tulip pictures I took a little while ago. :)
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