Snow

The fluffy white frozeness falls to the earth. I will admit, the first snow is an exceptional transformation of the seasons.  All those unique little essences that fall the days following can be mostly an invasive flurry of coldness.  Each are a reminder and beckon me into the past, when every part of my being would fight to reject what was inevitable, considering the location of my physical existence.
Oh sure there have been moments of glee as I would bundle up and hurry out to construct the perfect snowman as a child. Or my heart would beat rapidly as we sped down the runway of the hills that surrounded us! I could be almost certain that I would melt all my layers off in front of our wood burning stove, always taking extra caution to not burn myself on the glass that I couldn't get close enough to.  Even as a smitten girl, who adored the snow angels that I had created, that snow never held my attention for long.   My sisters still occasionally remind me that I may have lasted all of ten minutes before I would stomp my way indoors to escape the shrewd cold that chilled me inside and out. Tears often came streaking down my rosy cheeks and the comfort of hot chocolate and an embrace from my mom, dad or Nana or Papa, assured me that I would survive!
And now, here I am again. Face to face with another Iowa winter, that so far shows promises of layers of cold woven in the deep prominence of blanketed whiteness.  And I sigh.  This time in acceptance.  Because this is where I am at.  A place of acceptance, in my heart, my soul and my life as a rural Iowan woman.  Acceptance of my perfect imperfections as a wife and mother. Acceptance is such a beautiful thing I find.  I want to linger here.  This place, where there is no more, "once was", but only what is. I dwell here in peace, not knowing what lies ahead, not needing to know, but able to say it is well with my soul.  I feel humility tenderly caressing my inner being and I rest in thankfulness for this day.  Christmas Eve, 2016, surrounded by those I fiercely love and anxiously waiting for my next rendevous in the snow.  Piling it high, packing it into a hundred balls of roundness to challenge my boys in a snow ball fight and laying still before waving my arms and legs to contest who in our family of seven has made the perfect snow angel.  
This consideration of acceptance is being birthed, I hope, into a journey of a well lived soul.  I may not always be found here, but I believe it possible to frequent its origin.   And in between my coming and going, embracing my longings and restlessness as worthy passages dutifully leading me back to abiding in His Presence. My place of Rest, where the past, present, and future are drowned out by the stillness, which saturates my soul. Much like when I gaze out into the inspiring drifts of well laden snow.