We nestle in white powder snow beneath grey afternoon clouds. I watch her scoop snow into her plastic shovel and dump it into a Tonka truck. My eyes grow heavy as I watch him push a yellow metal loader through snow piles. My shoulders sag beneath invisible weight. My little ones play, unaware it is nap time. I lay on the snow, close my eyes. Loader wheels squeak. Swish-a-swash Swish-a-swash. Snow pants rub as she walks. Snow sprays on my forehead as boots approach and she shovels snow onto my legs. "I'm covering you, mommy!" She laughs.
The fresh air is cool and moves. It wafts towards my cheeks, then away. It tenderly floats across my nose. A smile crosses my face. Only now do I realize that out here, beneath clouds, I can feel air. In my house, our manufactured temperature lacks the fresh movement only God can create. He didn't just give us oxygen - he made it move. It touches me. It caresses my face, entices my nose with endless scents and, a strong wind even wraps its arms around me.
My son lays silent beside me, inches from my face. I open my eyes and we gaze at each other, smiling. His blue eyes dance with joy. This moment, God is here smiling with us. We're rich and blessed to share this - to lay on soft snow and breathe.
1 comment:
Precious moments, precious writing.
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