Confessions of a Snowgirl

I am a snowgirl.

From when I was a child, snow got my heart. My world was safer when it snowed. It coated the tumultuous world with peace. I’d imagine the sky cuddling painful and struggling earth with its cloudy arms, like a bear loving on her cubs, and everyone would become closer, tighter, better. People smiled more. Children laughed louder. The sun shone brighter. Nature became livelier. Cars drove slower. Life was better.

It’s the silence of snow that mesmerizes me most. The peace and quietness of millions of snowflakes only matched by their pristine color. Snow stands out even though it is silently muffled. It draws us in even though it is cold. It inspires our sight even though it is of only one color. Unlike rain, snow doesn’t hurry down, but takes time to undulate its movements and round off its journey. For being crystalized water—feathers of the sky—snow brings a powerful change through gentle strength and quiet voice. You cannot miss snow even if you were blind. Snow smells like Heaven: glorious whiffs of transformed skies mixed with new vapors of coldness in the lightness of perfection. When it snows, the world is transformed. For a day or two, we see the world in a different color, with depth and added perspective. Snow transforms and gives hope: what we see shall be made new; what hurts shall be healed; what looks like dying shall be resurrected. Winter renews life: it announces with whispered shouts that the Spring of New life is on its way.

If snow could quote Scripture, what would it say? Would it remind Christians that their scarlet sins are scarlet no more in Jesus? That the blood of Christ has washed all sins away and now purity stands forever as a guarantee of our transformation (Isaiah 1:18)? Would the pure snow shout that the only thing cleaner than it is the forgiveness of our sins, our sanctification in Jesus (Psalm 51:7)? Would the snow stand as a white storm of remembrance to what the Word of God accomplishes on earth—from the breath of God to the ashes of dirt (Isaiah 55:10)? Would the snow testify to the power of God’s voice that commands and it obeys (Job 37:6)? Would the snow draw attention to the pure robe of the Lamb, or His white hairs, or His divine attire (Matthew 28:3; Revelation 1:14; Daniel 7:9)? Is the snow another one of God’s gentle gifts to the weary mother to be strengthened in the Lord, to not be afraid of life’s trials because God is the provider of all her needs for each day ahead (Proverbs 31:21)? Or maybe God sends the snow to let its coldness refresh the souls of the believers, like a faithful messenger in the times of harvest to his masters (Proverbs 25:13)? Would the snow declare its undivided obedience to the voice of its Creator (Psalm 148:8)? Would snow burst out in loud worship for it falls when the Lord wills it (Psalm 148:7-8, Job 38:29)?

Or maybe the snow would simply fall: gently and quietly, knowing that it was purposed to signify all the things above and more regardless if humanity acknowledges its purpose or not. Snow will continue to do what it was called to do, and it will do so gracefully, silently, and majestically. The womb of the Maker births snow, frost, and ice and all that snow can do is fall into its assigned time, place, and divine role. Snow knows that from all the voices calling out to it, the Only Voice worth listening to is that of its Boundary-Maker, its Creator, its God (Psalm 74:17).  

I’m an adult now who has remained a snowgirl. Every time it snows, I like to gather my family and rejoice in the silence and beauty of the snow. We play louder. We laugh harder. We think of God anew. We slow down and get closer. And while I gather my children safely under a cozy blanket, warming by the fire, I still feel the peace of the snow’s comfort: I am a better human because it snows in this universe!