There's a blanket of snow covering the ground here in east Tennessee, and in our subdivision a layer of ice has added a tricky dimension to the driving conditions. Tan Rara subdivision is on a series of hills, so I am stuck. I can't make it up the first hill, so I am writing this from home. Ah, but it's beautiful though. Our yards are gorgeous.
I'm looking at the first hill coming down to our neighborhood and the thought strikes me that this would be the ideal hill for sledding. I admit that the logistical problem in this is at the bottom of the sledding course is a 4,000 square foot house that would pancake the face of any participant, but let's not get picky, okay? The course is smooth and about 100 feet long. It reminds me of my elementary school days back in Dallastown PA.
Snow came plentiful in those days, and as a child I remember every winter we would have at least two or three snow days that would cancel out the misery of classroom work for an entire day, as close to euphoria as a kid can get. The large brick schoolhouse hadn't been upgraded since the war effort, and I can still recall the sloping wooden floors and huge blackboards with a tray full of chalkdust in every room. A day to get out of that environment? Yee hah.
Near the school there was a long, long gently sloping road that curves towards - well, I don't know where because I don't think any kid made it all the way down to the bottom alive. We were all bundled with scarves, ski caps, boots and thick corduroy-type coats, toting our wooden sleds with strong red or blue-colored runners. For some reason I recall that there were no girls around at all - this was an all-male event, so you will clearly understand that no boy wore mittens - gloves only. Showing up with mittens would have been fatal.
We'd hit that slope and shoot down that long slide to the cheers of other boys who were not encouraging our success, but actually rooting for a seriously good crash into someon'e's mailbox or curb. It happened. More than once I flipped the sled end over end and once hit a dry patch of road, which shot me free of the sled and cartwheeling down the road. The boys applauded with gloves. Thud thud thud.
I remember the sheer joy of the clean white snow and the quiet crunch underneath your galoshes or boots. The world seems quieter. Moms were home whipping up some hot chocolate, and dads coasted back from work with a smile on their face as we would all pretend we were in for a blizzard, so we'd better have a healthy fire and an extra dessert.
Wow, I loved everything about snow.
So when I came across Isaiah 1:18 om the Bible and saw that God promised the results of my trust in Him was to have a heart white as snow... man, He hit the soft spot of my soul.
I was in my teen years when I found this passage. I was a rotten kid. I had realized the messy life I was living and the chaotic plans I selfishly made were jumbled without reason. There was no rhythm or sense to my plans or my morality. That's why Isaiah's passage struck me, and at the age of seventeen, I made a serious decision about following Jesus. And here's the kicker: my life started opening up like snow days.
Spills, yes. But also joy. Real joy.
