The ground has been icy and white for almost a week. All the excitement that did exist from the closure of schools and the disruption of the regular has ceased. The kids want normalcy and their routine and freedom. If it was up to me, we would continue with the quiet and solitude. They, and their dad, are all I need.
My nephew is a photographer. His creativity and eye for a good shot impresses me. I am a proud aunt. He spent the much of the week at home just like everyone else in the mid-state, but he did have his camera and lenses in hand. I am fascinated by his week’s work.
When I was growing up I’d sit at a little yellow table in the basement of the house my parents made a home. I would fold pieces of white paper into squares and then snip and clip little designs. My unfolded masterpiece always provided hope of what I anticipated winter days would bring.
As many times as I made my paper snowflakes, there wasn’t one that ever could compare to the Creator’s handiwork. I gaze at my nephews pictures and I find myself entranced, in awe, speechless. Words don’t do this intricate, carefully designed, God-breathed miracle justice.
I am grateful for the pause this week. Last week I am honest but ashamed to admit that I wouldn’t have slowed enough to notice a tiny speck of His creation. I hopeful that next week and weeks from now I will remember this snowflake. Maybe if I keep its memory it will be a reminder to notice the marvels of His creation that fill my world.
The trees that line our creek. The stars that are suspended in the night sky. The chipmunk that makes my back yard his playground. The students that try to blend in with the crowd and quietly shuffle down the hall. The calls that register with the names “momma” or “daddy” on the screen of my cell phone. The overlooked moments with my favorite four.
I want to always remember this snowflake, giving my life in thanksgiving to it's Creator everyday.
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