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.