Snow !

It started to snow one morning this week. We’re in an odd little pocket of Canada, caught between the ocean and the nearby mountains, so we actually don’t get much snow here. For a couple of prairie kids like me and Brian, this is almost ridiculous. We tend to have cold, drizzly, grey winters with occasional bits of snow. I don’t miss -43 degrees Celsius of my childhood much – but I do miss snow forts and skating outside, the smell of wet wool mittens on the radiator and the blinding white crisp of winter sun. When it does snow here, it’s a novelty, a joy to be enjoyed because it’s fleeting and impermanent. (I can hear my Saskatchewan family laughing from here.)

The snow fell in the fat lazy flakes of barely freezing temperatures, the tinies crowded around the window breathing delight onto the panes of glass, and we were late for school. I’m a last-minute leaver, perpetually one of the last ones to drop-off no matter my best efforts, and of course we were running behind again this morning. I had my Mum Means Business voice out in full force: get your mittens, zip up your coat, come on, we’re going to be late. Let’s go, guys! We do this every morning.

We tumbled out of the house in disarray and urgency. I had a long list of work for the day, don’t we all. But then I saw the snow and I saw the looks on their faces, the longing to touch the snow and taste it, mingled with their resignation to the schedule as they headed for the grey minivan, lugging their backpacks along.

I stopped abruptly, without thought: “Go on then,” I said. “Go on. We’ll be late, take a moment for this.” They looked at me to make sure I meant it, disbelieving, and then they were off like a shot, falling into the two inches of snow on the lawn like it was a drift from the Arctic.

Evelynn, our toddler, stood in the middle of the yard with her puffy arms straight out and her eyes closed, her mouth wide open, “I eat it!” she crowed. Anne and Joe rolled like puppies, tossed handfuls of snow at each other from a point blank range. I wandered out of the garage and stood under the satisfying beauty of the morning and took a deep breath. Another. Another. Make some room to breathe deep. Exhale before you take in the day.

Make some room for the small joys. Make a little room in your schedule and your world-saving and your end-meeting, in the midst of your meal-planning, program-directing, list-accomplishing. Make some room for the moments, however fleeting, of beauty that breaks through our resolve and our armour, our urgency and our self-importance.

Stand here with me, out in the snow for even just a few minutes. Listen to laughter and stand in space you created with your pause, look at the trees stretched out bare and unshrinking.

Tip your face to the heavy sky until you feel like a woman in a poem; surely a poet could spare a word or two for the tired thirties of womanhood and the sacred discipline of pausing in the midst of the rushing, for the snowflakes and the joy to gather in your hair like fleeting stars.

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In which Advent is for the ones who know longing
In which heaven breaks through
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  • Good Lord woman.
    This is good.

  • Goodness.

  • DrGailBones

    Hi Sarah- You have been having your influence in our family this week with your posting about longings. First, I shared it with my niece and nephew who lost a baby this past year. Your words helped them find a way to navigate this holiday season. Corrie said,” It’s felt strange to know how to engage the holidays but this blog has really got me thinking and helped me find a framework and a place to engage the longing. And endure, looking toward celebrating His birth and what His life means for Brooklyn and for us.” Her blog is called Brooklyn’s Bridge www.

    I also wrote a blog this morning about longings fulfilled that was inspired by what you had to say. when you drop a stone, there are so many ripples you never know about unless someone takes the time to tell you!

  • Kelly Hausknecht Chripczuk

    My kids had the joy of “skating” on icy sidewalks this week, sheer joy, and I managed to only warn them once against falling. Then today, we stomped some exquisitely thin ice, loving the shatter like breaking glass beneath our feet.

    • Kelly Hausknecht Chripczuk

      All of these moments, gathered, are ENOUGH.

  • Love.

  • Love this, Sarah. So beautiful. Such goodness. You’re a great momma to throw your schedule aside and let your tinies have their moment of delight. Memories made for certain. And I’m right there with you in making room to breathe deep this season. Blessings on all your joys, both big and small.

  • Kristin Lee Williams

    I have been struggling with this so much lately. I am so tired of my “mum means business” voice, especially when I hear those tones coming from my daughter. She’s learning to be like me and that isn’t always a good thing. I don’t know the solution yet, don’t know how I can stop shouting but still get us out the door in time for school…especially because my oldest is absolutely terrified of being late. But “not now” and “hurry up” and “let’s go, now” are not good ways to build a life.

  • lemead

    This is so beautiful, so right. I could not agree more. There’s magic to be found in these small in-between moments, if we just let ourselves see it. Thanks for the reminder. xoxo

  • This makes me a tiny bit breathless….beautiful.

  • KimberlyCoyle

    Sometimes, I want to eat your words. So lovely and perfectly true.

  • Amy Hunt

    True, Real, Full worship.

  • YES.
    Thank you Sarah. I needed this today.

  • Sonya Bennett Armistead

    I needed this today! I am bawling here in NC. Thank you! Thank you for reminding me to remember to take time for joy with a tiny one in tow.

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