I TOOK A WEEK OFF WORK to visit family in northern Ohio last week.
I stayed with family who live in a house the Amish built on a piney woods, once a Christmas tree farm.
Someone text the Hallmark Channel. And put out a casting call for bad actors.
I kid Hallmark, with love.
Whether I visit the family during warm months or cold, I usually take walks through the woods. God often feels more alive there. Maybe it’s because in those woods his work is everywhere I look and in everything I hear and smell and touch.
For a few minutes early in my visit, snowflakes tumbled thick from the heavens. All sizes of snowflakes. Twisting, twirling, bouncing.
Here’s the link
This is the link to a 60-second snippet of what I videotaped in those moments:
I doubt angels sweep up after homecoming parties. But the idea came to mind.
I stopped to watch the wind blow curls into the choreography set on a stage against a backdrop of towering pines, boughs trimmed in snow.
Seriously, the snowflakes looked like they were dancing for me.
Okay, folks. I know there’s this thing called gravity. Wind, too. Both of which are naturally occurring, far as I can tell.
But this wind seemed to breathe life into the snowflakes.
And gravity brought them down to me.
I know angels don’t live on the head of a pin, so God-fearing people can pass time trying to count them.
And I’m pretty sure God doesn’t dance on snowflakes, leaping from one to another, and moving each flake that feels his touch.
But I’ll tell you, as I stood there watching this for just a few moments, I felt like a flake he touched.
Imagine a flake like me swept up in a snowfall, feeling warmed.
I should get out of the house more.
Even Buddy the Dog would agree, as long as I took him with me.
But then I’d have to take along a plastic poop bag. If you’ve ever picked up dog poop in a snowstorm, you know what it’s like to feel strangely warmed in another way entirely.
I’m done now.
And if I had an editor for this, I’d have been done a few sentences ago.