Snow

“It was easy to love God in all that was beautiful.

The lessons of deeper knowledge, though, instructed me to embrace God in all things.”

-St. Francis of Assisi

 

After living in the Boston Area for most of my life, I thought I had become accustomed to snow. I looked forward to that one day each year when I woke up to witness a downy fleece blanketing the sidewalk outside my house. Snowflakes would spiral and gently cover the trees like feathers, and I would find pleasure in digging out the front steps with a tiny shovel. As the years passed, that small task grew to helping shovel our own driveway and my next-door neighbor’s. And even though the ploughs that swept the streets always seemed to bring in the iciest, damp snow that resisted all attempts to be moved, I waited hopefully for the experience of wonder and peace that came with the snow.

As I write this post now, a different kind of wonder accompanies the one I just wrote about. It is a wonder mixed with amazement, incredulity, and more than a little frustration. Three snowstorms in the span of a few weeks, numerous missed days of school, and the fact that there hasn’t been a staff meeting for Marsh yet give some cause for anxiety, to say the least. Amidst worrying about how to make up classes, how to travel around a city where some snow banks are as tall as I am, and simply figuring out how to spend time on a snow day, I am beginning to question the beauty in something that can be so disruptive in our everyday routine.

But perhaps I am thinking about this too gloomily. Over the past few days, I have read words of encouragement that have created pause among storms of flurries. The first words came from the colorful cards that students had created, thanking BU Facilities for their tireless work and dedication to keep an entire campus clear and free of snow. For their efforts, and those of all the workers who have come in on the Charles River and Medical Campuses these past few weeks, I am truly grateful. Many have spent hours working for the benefit and safety of students, faculty, and staff. In light of that, I should hardly complain about getting another day off or bemoan making up for lost time.

The second piece of encouragement came from Soren and Dean Hill. In an email and in a sermon, respectively, they reminded me that “Snow days are a gift from the divine,” and that they provide “a gracious and liberating pause.” The sermon continued: “Grace is not something you do, it is something that happens to you. Love is not something you own, it is something you receive and return. And sin is not taking what is offered.” Snow offers a gift that so often is ignored or taken for granted (and no, I don’t mean the headache that many adults and teenagers alike may experience shoveling it). It gives a moment to spend time among warmth, in place or in company. It forces us to stop fretting about the daily cycle of going to class, rushing from place to place, and agonizing about not getting enough sleep (I hope). Snow days grant us grace from many of our usual commitments, and they create moments for rest. It can be physical rest or mental rest, but importantly they open space and time for spiritual rest as well. There is something to be said for gazing outside at snowflakes swirling in the wind, attempting to sled with friends without hills on snow that isn’t packed enough to slide on, and starting the occasional snowball fight that lasts for hours. And despite all the assignments that must be made up and all the tasks that must be accomplished, are such moments of living in the present spirit not worth it?

The last words are the ones that opened this post, taken from one of St. Francis’ poems. Waking up each day in the wintery months to the falling crystals outside the window remains an enduring memory of my childhood excitement and anticipation. Even now, a thrill still passes through me when I walk outside and shield myself from the specks of playful cold. It feels easy to give thanks for the divine in the gift of snow as it falls on the earth. It is only now, with multiple cold fronts, snow days, and time lost among drifts of snowflakes, that the second part of St. Francis’ poem comes to light. As we move forward slowly through the upcoming days and struggle through snowbanks, may we find the beauty of this cold, wintry season. And may we be moved to embrace the Divine grace imbued in every snowflake.

One Comment

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