Here in Carolina, this happens nearly every year.
The weather forecasters call for snow… or sleet… or freezing rain. Kids though, they only hear s.n.o.w.
They start prepping early. And in a totally different way from us adults.
We make sure we’ve plenty of got gas in the vehicles… that the scrapers and shovels are handy… check the pantry and make grocery lists. (These types of storms have, in the past, left us stranded and without power for up to a week.) They start digging in bins for the snow bibs, hats, and gloves.
Their joy at just the potential for snow is adorable. I mean, how often do we let ourselves as adults get wildly hyped up with abandon because there just might be a chance that something could happen? It truly is one of those beautiful things about childhood…
It started late in the day and continued on into the night. Sleet mostly, falling down and pelting everything in sight. Enough of it to actually pile up in places. Sometime in the night it transitioned to a light dusting of snow, which coated the top of the sleet.
And in the morning, it didn’t make one bit of difference that it wasn’t exactly the fluffy white powder that had been predicted. It didn’t matter how slick, dangerous, or even messy the stuff was… to a child, it beckoned.
I admit, it took me longer than it should have to want to help them get ready and go outside. I’d slept in. Well… if you call forcing your eyes to stay closed even though your ears hear little hands, feet, and voices planning their courses of action. But when I finally relented, there was truly beautiful sights to behold out there.
Ice laden trees.
Smiles like this.
Watching one refuse to give up (she broke her ankle doing this just last year…)
…and another keep up his daredevil reputation.
The pure joy that exudes from splashing in muddy puddles.
And the overall fascination that fills the minds of kids who just don’t see much of this white stuff each year.
When it comes down to it, we have somewhere around eighteen winters with our children. Eighteen. At 12, I’ve got about 6 left with Sam… and even though I’ve still got about 14 left with my youngest, Emme, she is a whole ‘nother creature and watching her experience all of these things is completely different that it has been with any of her siblings!
Father, I am so thankful for the wonder of winter in my children… Thankful that you are still willing to pull me out of my “grown out of it” state of mind and renew my wonder through my children. I am grateful to be able to see things in new ways through their eyes… to appreciate things in new ways that I took for granted as a child myself. Thank you for the muddy boots, wet clothes, and rushes through the door to get warmed up. May they continue to only ever serve as reminders of the wonderful blessings we have from You.