Two weeks to the day, after the 11 inch blizzard, we got four inches of pure delightful Carvel snow. It was clean and bright and the small drift lines were crisp and whipped into peaks, like a good meringue. I am sorry, but I feel for it again. I excused myself to watch the snow fall. Then I listened up, knowing full well that snow, when it is gentle and draping in nature, like an afghan, has stories to tell.
Snow, like the biblical stones, speaks in whispered tones, and tells us again of those we have loved and lost, and how deeply we still long to have just one more day; they recite favorite memories like nursery rhymes, and count blessings with an easy and volume; and they remind us of what truly matters, and what is not consequence at all, and this sermon still inspires, as it tells us to keep our soul nourished and poor spirit focused.
The snow for me is like a good teacher. They are competent and they care, and they know the vital importance of repetition. They also give you an “A” to start, and for the most part, you keep that gracious grade simply by showing up for the day itself. The lessons that each day teaches are about a dozen, and they vary for each person. Mine include the following.
This too shall pass. Yes, not everybody likes you, nor will they. Don’t dwell on that which does not matter, like 99% of what you worry about. Don’t lie. Don’t lose your sense of humor. Make needed changes. Learn from the past. Keep your faith strong and fresh and well exercised. Be positive and productive. Be relaxed. Be Sabbath for others. Be on your knees long enough to know you are not God.
The next time it snows, listen up. You will hear your soul hold a conversation with the Word of God. You will hear the pulse of God. You will hear the words – YOU ARE BELOVED ; YOU ARE ENOUGH ; YOU ARE MY CHILD.
You will never need a hearing aid, although stopping and sitting still and looking are all helpful. Just listen with your heart. The heart has such good ears, especially when freed from the craziness of worry and fear and anxiety, and almost all gossip or critique or judgment.
O, Lord of Lent, let me listen and let me hear, the snow as it is falling. As the snow falls down, our souls rise. The skies open and the Word drops down, and we catch it on our tongues, and we drink of its Grace. Our spirits are quenched. Amen.
Reverend William R. Grimbol has spent the past 30+ years helping people create and develop strong spiritual connections with loved ones and God. He is also a published author, with over a dozen books to his credit.