SnowWe finally got some gorgeous, fluffy snow last week. This winter has been colder than usual, but there hasn’t been much of the white stuff. It was a bit inconvenient for a few days, but really, an excuse to not leave the house suited us just fine.
We took Thistle out to romp in the eight or so inches of fluffy snow that was just SO gorgeous. Then I took her out again the next day, into the slush and muck as the temperatures rose. And here’s what I noticed:
The pristine beauty of the snow was VERY brief.
That perfect expanse of white was broken by cars and tromping feet and wind-blown debris and critters and falling icicles and, well, it was broken. We even helped break it. The very act of going out to see the beauty up close–broke it.
Which got me to thinking about how life is punctuated by perfect moments that simply don’t last. The moment right after my husband and I said, “I do?” Perfect. The moment when I was offered the job I felt God had called me to? Perfect. The moment when I knew for certain that my novel would be published? Perfect.
And then the newlyweds had their first fight–over pie of all things. And then I made a mistake at the new job and my boss had to sit me down and have a talk. And then I got my first one-star review on Amazon and questioned my ability to write (that one hasn’t happened yet–but it probably will!). Not so perfect.
But that’s okay. Because nothing is truly perfect this side of heaven. All of those fleeting, perfect-snowfall moments are just samples. Like the lady at the grocery store handing out little cups of some new yogurt drink that make me decide to buy a whole bottle.
Sometimes I feel a little sad when that perfect moment fades and either disappears or turns to mud like the mantle of snow blanketing our yard last week. But somehow, when I think of those moments as samples of something infinitely better and never-ending . . . now that’s something to anticipate.
James 1:17 – Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.