when it snows

A blizzard hit today. And not in my spiritual life.

I've never seen this much snow before. Apparently, Western PA hasn't seen snow like this since the blizzard of 1993, which I vaguely remember. I was living in West Virginia at the time and I stayed in my pajamas all day. Mom said we couldn't leave the house.

I just finished digging out my car with literally feet of snow on top of and around it with my fiance and roommates. Work feels like play in the snow - especially with people you love. I have to be at work tomorrow at 8am, which means I'll probably need to leave here around 7am to ensure I'm not late. My mornings seem to get earlier and earlier the older I get. And I'm okay with it. But I'll blog about my recognition and accepting of adulthood later.

I always think of God when it snows (you knew this was coming). But not in a cheesy way. I never think of God's presence in a visible or really tangible way. I always think of it as some sparkly feeling you get behind your collar bone.

And then it snows.

And I'm surrounded by thousands upon thousands of crystallized molecules; each hand-crafted by the Maker of the universe. It falls gently around me, and I don't fear. I can't hear it, except when I listen really, really carefully. And even then, it identifies no distinct sound. Just a hum. Or a murmur. Or just a sound I hear from faith that the pieces plummeting from miles high will eventually land. And when it does it joins the rest in a sparkling uniform of glory. Like the sky in the Outback.

I always think it's going to be dark outside when it snows. But it never is. It's always bright. And calm. Serene. And I wonder why I didn't venture outside earlier.

And while it has the potential to become like it is today and was in 1993,

I'm at peace.