Seeing Snow

I was supposed to go to Maryland yesterday to be there when my dad became a pastor at my parents' new church. It was a big deal, and I was supposed to be there for it.

But I missed my bus (and by two minutes, at that).

"Can you do me a favor?" my dad said when I called to break the news to him that I couldn't make it down there in time for the service. "Can you take the hours you would have spent getting here and back and enjoy a Day of Rest instead of a Day of Run?"

So I enjoyed a Day of Rest. I went to my new church and worshiped with the people who are becoming my friends there; later I relaxed at home and enjoyed some quiet time. But between the two, I did what might be the most restful thing I can do in the city-- I grabbed my camera and spent some time wandering through Central Park and capturing scenes of the freshly fallen snow.

I walked past a dad with his young daughter. She was so bundled she could barely move, but she was grinning from ear to ear, clearly having the time of her life. "She's seeing snow for the first time," he told a woman who had commented on the little girl's joy.

Can you imagine seeing snow for the first time? I can't remember what that was like.

I love snow-- don't get me wrong. But the joy of seeing it for the first time? You wouldn't think about the inconvenience. You wouldn't think about what it would look like when it eventually got dirty and started to melt. You would just see this beautiful white blanket over everything and making it look clean and fresh and new.

I looked around me at all the snow, and thought What if this was the first time I was seeing this-- all this white that makes everything look so beautiful?

And I, too, grinned from ear to ear.