A Little Cold Is Good For One's Perspective

I'm going to take a wild guess and assume it was about 5ºF as we made our way through our church parking lot this past Sunday evening. Those in Minnesota are surely laughing at my 5ºF "cold" as they read this (okay, not that I know of any Minnasotans who DO read my blog). But for those who don't live in areas where automobile shortcuts across a frozen lake are actually possible, I mean to say it was COLD! Brrrr!!! As someone once put it, "I was considering trading in the minivan for a Zamboni." Are you hearin' me? It was reaaaally C-O-L-D.

My dear husband, Carl, was practically running into the building to get our month old baby out of the frosty night air. Olivia, our seven year old, was holding her younger sister's hand and doing her best to hustle along with "Ol' Three Foot." Suffice it to say that any attempts to hurry four year old Cierah through life are entirely futile. If I didn't know better from all the times I've personally dressed her, I might believe that child was wearing permanent concrete shoes. The thing is, she didn't even shuffle along. No, she merely blockfooted to her own casual beat (blockfoot; an immensely choppy and painstakingly casual pace that dares to redefine SLOW).

And there I was, trying to rush our strawberry blonde "taking life at my own pace too" five year old son, Reece. Only, he wasn't interested in hurrying out of the bitter cold. Rather, he became quite frustrated because he was trying with all his pint-sized might to catch a snowflake on his eager tongue and it just was not happening. Do you know how tempting it was to simply pick up a handful of once white snow (now a dirty gray sludge) and place an icy bit on his tongue just to move him along? Yes, I was tempted. I fully admit it.

In all honesty though, I found the sting of winter cold lessening as my frustration was replaced with a sudden glimpse of time that passes too quickly (thank you, Lord, for opening my eyes when I cannot see). I found myself drinking in the simplicity of the moment, no longer struggling against bitter cold, but instead being able to look at it through the eyes of my sweet five year old boy. He didn't "see" cold at all. No, he saw something that made him feel alive and giddy and joyful, something so basic as a fallen snowflake caught on the end of a waiting tongue.

On the way out of church, the newly accumulated snow looked like those opalescent bags of fake stuff you can buy at Christmas. It shone brilliantly like diamonds, in tiny silken patches on the once visible blacktop. It was beautiful,....no, MAGICAL, and I realized then that I was looking at it as Reece had been all along. I mussed his strawberry locks and told him the snow was "glistening." He enthusiastically asked, "What's dat, Momma?" I warmly replied, "It means the snow is sparkling," to which he quickly agreed, "Oh yes, it sure IS glistening!" And as we walked on in that moment, I wasn't so chilly after all.

Now THIS is one creative outlet I couldn't pass up.

Well, it's official. Give me an invitation to write and I'm not likely to pass on it. Everyone has that one way they best express their creative side. If I had to choose, I would say writing meets that need in me. Even as I type this, I find myself wondering, 'When did it all begin? When did I become hooked on creative writing?' I'll have to take you back to the fourth grade to answer that.

Ms. Elwitz was my gym teacher. She was a most animated woman, almost cartoon-like. She shared intriguing stories about serving as a nurse in war times. She was stern and not entirely feminine. BUT,...she was also compassionate and colorful. I remember when we found an injured bird behind the school during recess. She allowed us to keep it in a box in the gym, to comfort it as it faced certain death. Yes, she was human and she showed it.

Our classroom teacher asked her to give us some creative writing lessons, as she had published a children's book. I was in complete awe about that and I drank in every lesson with genuine enthusiasm. She gave us each an autographed copy of her book on the day of the last lesson. On the inside cover of my book, she had written, "To Toni. You'll make a great writer or a great mother someday,...probably both." Oh, how the words of another person can inspire. I was immediately and completely hooked on the idea of writing.

So, what happened? Well, life eventually "happened" and my dreams of writing were set aside.
Sure, I still contemplate writing, but with four children to raise, a husband to encourage, a homeschool to run, a house to maintain, a cat to feed, a waistline to monitor, and a soccer or swim lesson to head off to, I find precious little time to even attempt a writing pursuit. But, a blog? A chance to sit down and express my creative side during a rare, uninterrupted moment? How can I refuse myself the pleasure?!

Now, all this being said, I do realize that YOU might not find my writing to be as polished as I make it out to be. Perhaps it doesn't deserve a little blogging spotlight. Well then, I just have one teensy little thing to say to you; If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all (and if you can't follow those words of wisdom, can't you at least pretend?).