We go to sleep with the world a shimmer—draped in the gloss of a wet sheen. There are pictures on the news of our friends in New York and New Jersey—water-logged. The snow already falls on the mountain peaks but here in the valley? They keep saying it’s “possible”. So we go to sleep with the hint of “possible” accumulation and I dream of trying on a new dress—of beauty in folded cloth.
So at 5:30 in the morning when the school calls to say there is a delay, I just roll over and reset the alarm. But when they call back at 6:51…I slide out of bed and peer through the curtain into the dim morning. And I see that the earth has tried on my dream—donned a new shift of thick white wool. The dressing falls down in heavy lace—a veil, I think—and a winter wedding is the mystery of heaven drifting down.
There is no school, so the boys sleep in and I go back to bed too—where his arms wrap warm around me and a fire is kindled with a sweet, slow burn. We are all here—safe and warm under one roof, and is there anything more wonderful to a mama’s heart?
After the big breakfast and late into the morning, I read Psalm 65: …Blessed are those you choose and bring near…we are filled with the good things of your house…where morning dawns and evening fades you call forth songs of joy…
And I give thanks for good things and I pray for those caught in storms and I step out into this storm that surprises and look for the beauty of the wedding feast.
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