I fondly recall a special day from my childhood, a special day, better than all other days – except perhaps Christmas or my birthday. Often I would wait with eager anticipation, my face planted against the cold glass of the dining room window, looking out onto the street, lit by a solitary streetlight. Watching, waiting, wondering, hoping, and for what – can you guess – a snow-day.
Yes, a snow-day, the most glorious day in a fellow’s life when he is eight-year’s old.
You see during my elementary years, the southern suburbs of Philadelphia would receive a snow of 6 – 10 inches several times a winter.
I would watch the small flakes fall, swirling in and out of the incandescence light. Hoping, believing, wishing that the snow was also falling out of my sight. My wishing along with every other red-bloodied boy was important. Collectively, we could make a difference, or so I believed. If the snow began to early, the streets would be cleared by the morning from the afternoon traffic and the salt-trucks and school would be held – without outside recess. To light of a snow also was no good. So together without any contact or premeditation all of us were at the windows calling the snow down onto the lawn and streets.
I would watch the fluttering crystals and anticipate the day off from school. I remember staying awake, tiptoeing to the window checking the accumulation, calculating the amount needed to postpone school.
Awaking on a snow-day was wonderful. There would be the smell of breakfast, since both my mother and father would be home, toast and jam, maybe bacon or even scrapple frying on the stove. The sheer delight of listening to the radio and hearing the name of my school called, knowing officially, what was already evident.
In my memory of snow-days, the sun was always shining brightly in the morning, the wind would have quieted and my entire world would be radiant: glistening, white, tranquil. The streets of heaven may be lined with gold, but the fields must be white with new-fallen snow. And the sound, quiet, not silent. A new snow fall brings a “sound” of peace perhaps soothing is a better word.
A snow-day was a free day. No cares or concerns, at least not for an eight year old. My day, after dressing in the proper winter garb and passing Mother’s inspection began with exploration. My feet would be the first on the snow covered steps. There is a joy in making a boot trail over a yard and looking back to see where you have been, locating drifts, kicking through the new power, and sliding down hills. As the morning developed, friends would be discovered doing the same, until a pack of us boys gathered and built snow forts, tossed snow balls or sledded down the hill in the meadow across the street.
Now I know it was not the same for the grown-ups. Some had to shovel out cars and brave the icy roads no matter what. And there were driveways and sidewalks to shovel, plus extra work waiting at the office when tomorrow came. But for a child this day was perfect. Play until soaking wet, chilled to the bone, then head home for hot chocolate or a bowl of soup until you redressed and began the adventure again.
Over the past several months, the books I have read, conversations with friends and even speakers I listen to have been directing me to desire a snow-day. Or perhaps I should explain in more approximate “grown-up” language: a time of Sabbath, a period of total rest, in the presence of God. Or better yet, to learn to live each new day as a new beginning: to recognize that God’s mercies are new every morning… to pray, listening attentively and enter into the presence of God to the one who addresses us here and now, to learn to hear the voice of God. God who has revealed himself as Immanuel: God with me (us). As I choose to listen that I might find the new mercy hidden in a moment, waiting to born. I desire to fight the voices, I hear, telling me lies.
My rational, modern grown-up mind relying on our past experiences and memories tells me that the future will be just a repeat of the past.
I wish to no longer be fooled by the Father of lies. The voice of the deceiver who comes to kill my hope, steal my joy, destroy my relationship with my Father in heaven.
Henry Nouwen calls the voices of the past and future - the “oughts” and “ifs”. He explains how the “oughts” pull us back into the unalterable past; while the “ifs” draw us forward into the unpredictable future. The "oughts" dredge up shame and guilt, while the "if" create doubt of the future due to curcumstances out of my controll.
But real life is the here and now. God, our God, my God is the God of the present the God of NOW. That is a why I seek for a snow day or perhaps better stated a snow-day moment. In the present, right now, to feel the hand of my Father and know that all is fine, that all is going to be OK, even in the midst of the storm. And to be able to carry that snow-day moment with me to sustain me all day long unto the morning when I arise anew and look for a snow-day again.
I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
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