Yesterday morning we awakened to Christmas come down—two inches in less than an hour and fat flakes still cascading. Jeff ran to the church to find our pastor being buried as he tried to shovel. The parking lot was snow-covered and the blanket deepened as they watched so the decision was made to call off morning services. Church was cancelled but the sky tumbled down in worship and back home I peered through the blinds with a sleepy sixteen year-old and watched his face light up with joy.
When Jeff returned home, he and I ran to the grocery to try to beat the crowds. I didn’t care much about the shopping—just wanted to get out in the stuff and feel the wonder. And maybe get something special to throw in the crock for dinner—something warm and rich and yummy.
We sloshed through the unplowed streets of our neighborhood and down the pristine white of our little valley road. Few people were braving the weather and the snow muffled all sound except the steady drip-dripping of the earth quenching a long thirst. We held hands as we skitted through the parking lot, dodging those big wet flakes. Short work was made of the list (we bought some spareribs to cook for dinner) but while we were shopping, the temperature rose and all that snow turned into an icy rain.
We made our way home through icy sheets, joy drowned in that bone-chilling wet. After the goods were put away and the ribs were rubbed and browned and put in the crock to slow simmer, I stood at the window and watched the white give way to crystalline—the trees and the meadow alight with millions of twinkling droplets.
The song says He came like the winter snow—quiet, soft, and slow. But the way the storm came and covered us all in white, bringing joy and wonder and shaking us from our sleep … the way the sky drips diamonds and clings to each up-reaching branch … this changes the way I sing.
Church was cancelled but the sky rained down the hymns of heaven. Christ swept in and quenched the deep longing, clinging to eternity within us and dripping slow into the soil of our hearts. And worship never was o sweet.
Today, at The High Calling, Shelly Miller is sharing a story about a time when eating became worship for her and some friends. Join us over there?
How do you embrace the God-joy? Every Monday I’ll be sharing one of my Playdates with God. I would love to hear about yours. It can be anything: outside, quiet time. Maybe it’s solitary. Maybe it’s loud and crowded. Just find Him. Be with Him. Grab my button at the bottom of the page and join us:
The Playdates button:
And with Michelle today: