Winter

It's 14. That's degrees. Outside. 14 degrees outside, people. With a "Real Feel" temperature of negative 4. And that's one of our warmer days this winter.

That's cold, folks. My ears still have that hot, throbbing sensation from being outside, walking Rocco for less than 10 minutes. My nose is still running. And I'm just now getting the feeling back in my toes. And that was with my snow boots on. I'm looking out the window at the tiny, white flakes of snow, dancing and twirling down from the heavy gray sky, and I'm thinking, "Snow again?! Pretty sure it hasn't really stopped snowing in two weeks. And now we're getting more." 

Ah, such is life in the north. And honestly, I'm not really complaining about the snow or the cold. I actually like snow. And I can deal with cold. It's expected. I'm from Michigan, for crying out loud. When I was growing up, the first several months of every year were almost guaranteed to be a frigid wonderland of powdery white goodness. And even now, when I hear Tim Allen's voice in the Pure Michigan "Snow Day" ad, I want to bundle up and jump in a snow drift that will magically transform into my very own hidden snow fortress or grab my trusty ol' blue True Value sled and find the nearest hill.

But I am kind of getting tired of putting on 80 layers to go outside.

I'm kind of tired of the chalky white salt-laden sidewalks. The same chalky white salt that hangs out on my once-green car while I clean off the 5 feet of snow from my windshield. The same chalky white salt that makes me look like I hugged a chalkboard. With my black pants and coat.

I'm kind of tired of the ugly, squishy, slushy, gray-black snow that lines the streets and sloshes up on the back of my jeans. 

I'm kind of tired of the barren, lifeless, colorless trees.

I'm kind of tired of being stuck in the house. Of being taunted by our apartment complex's empty, tarp-covered swimming pool.

But just when I'm about to complain that I'm so done with winter...

A perfectly unique snowflake, with all the intricacies of hand sewn lace, falls gently on the window, and I'm reminded of the loving details of God's handiwork.

Three inches of fresh snow cover the dirty slush, and I think of God's mercies anew every morning.

I stomp the snow off my boots and unwrap my fuzzy scarf from around my neck as I walk into my warm home, and I am thankful for God's provision.

A tree stands boldly and silently under a fresh blanket of glistening, evening snow, and I see the beauty of God's creation.

And so, I look out the window now at the fiercely swirling snow and touch the freezing pane of glass, and I remember that God is in this season of cold and wind and sunless days. God is here in winter.

And I'm happily content.

However, I have reason to believe that God is also in spring. And if He decides to show Himself in that way sooner than later, I'd be content with that, too. ;)

Lots of love with warm wishes and hot cocoa thoughts,

Jessica