What is it about snow that lends its magical quality? Why is it when we step outside and a flake lands gently on our head, we tilt our face to the sky with a smile? Is it the memories of childhood, when we would pray for a snow day, then jump out of bed as soon as the words were announced - perhaps an hour earlier than if school was in session, with no complaint of tiredness - to spend the entire day making tracks, angels, and snowmen? Coming in to a mug of steaming cocoa and a bowl of soup.
Is it the beauty of waking up on Christmas morning to fat, lazy flakes falling gently on the ground, creating a snow globe scene? Or maybe walking down the drive with the moonlight amplified off the snow, the evergreens frosted with a fluffy white coat, the quiet muffled night with only the crunch of each footstep - that transports us into that magical realm.
Whatever the cause may be, I will forever lift my face to Heaven and raise my hands in thanks for a brief glimpse into the splendor of Heaven - not the visual, but the emotional that I never want to leave.
Is it the beauty of waking up on Christmas morning to fat, lazy flakes falling gently on the ground, creating a snow globe scene? Or maybe walking down the drive with the moonlight amplified off the snow, the evergreens frosted with a fluffy white coat, the quiet muffled night with only the crunch of each footstep - that transports us into that magical realm.
Whatever the cause may be, I will forever lift my face to Heaven and raise my hands in thanks for a brief glimpse into the splendor of Heaven - not the visual, but the emotional that I never want to leave.
