Every year I wish, hope and pray that it will snow for my birthday.
This year was no different, except that by the time I got around to the wishing, hoping and praying it had already snowed.
It hasn't stopped.
Something said in yesterday's sermon caused me to pause. I gave thanks for the snow that everyone else is tired of.
Why did I give thanks for the snow?
Because it is light.
Snow is white and we all know that black is produced by the absence of light.
The sermon was, "The Light at the End of the Tunnel." And Pastor Tish mentioned a couple of times that we all hope that light is not coming from a train.
But like we hope that the light isn't from a train, we have hope in the light.
Snow is my light. I don't know why I like it so much. Bill would prefer if I liked desert landscapes instead.
But I don't.
I like the snow.
I don't ski, or snowboard.
I shovel and make snow angels.
And I enjoy the quiet that accompanies the snow.
Snow gives me hope for spring.
I wouldn't mind if it melted a little.