Today God covers all outdoors with a fresh, white blanket. A steady snow transforms darkness to light. It’s really quite amazing. God’s visual aid shows me the transformation of my own dark heart when I take my sin to Christ’s cross for cleansing.
“Purify me with hyssop and I shall be clean; wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.” (Psalm 51:7)
Whiter than snow… I look out the window and wonder that anything could be whiter than snow. I wonder that my wicked heart could be made so clean, not just once, but over and over again, like each fresh snowfall, no matter how great the sin.
Today I stop and watch the river running through our yard, a dark ribbon lying on a silky white sheet. Don’t be overly impressed here. It’s really only a creek (someone more athletically-inclined could jump across it) but it is the north branch of the Little Wolf River. No matter how cold it gets, that little river never freezes over. It just keeps moving steadily along its course. When boulders and branches clutter the way, it alters its course to follow the path of least resistance, determined to reach its final destination. That river refuses to be stopped.
Today’s dismal sky mirrors my mood. The cold clouds seem to notice my demeanor. A crystalline winter shower sifts down as they try to shake off their indifference – the closest thing to empathetic tears they can muster this time of year.
One of our former pastors died earlier this week. The funeral was today. He didn’t die of illness. Or old age. Or an accident. He died of depression. Of desperation. Of irrepressible despair.
Today my windshield is frosted white with feathery finesse. The grass and trees have been powder sugared, and the damp air has an unmistakable edge. Jack Frost passed through last night, leaving his frosty fingerprints on everything he touched. I’m not sure what kept him this year. Maybe he was vacationing in the Yukon! Whatever the case, he arrived later than usual.