Snowbound

My husband went on a mission trip to El Salvador to build houses.
He has been doing these kind of trips every year for over twenty five years.
These trips are planned months in advance.
Little did he know that while he was in 80 degree weather, we would be in single digits.

Not only single digits, but snow, lots of snow, and sleet, and ice.
My husband was to be gone for ten days.
We have someone who plows our driveway.
We have a wonderful boy across the street who shovels the walkways for us.

The snow was to begin early Sunday morning.
Friday evening, my son called to tell me that he and my daughter-in-love would be coming.
Their three daughters would be coming as well: ages six, three, and five months.
We thought we would be with you through the storm, he said.

They live over two hours away.
Their state was expected to get lots of ice.
With a new baby, being together was a wonderful idea.
I was so grateful for their company and prayed the power would stay on for us.

To see a snowstorm through the eyes of a child is such a gift.
The squeals, the delight, and the sheer joy as they watched the snow falling, was thrilling.
My son shoveled the walkways throughout the storm just to stay on top of it.
The plow came three times through the night to stay on top of our driveway.

I had not heard the plow go down our street.
It was much later in the day before it passed through the first time.
It would come a few more times before the storm ended.
There is something about that sound that is so comforting; knowing we are not snowbound.

Yet, being snowbound, with a fire in the fireplace, and good books to read, is enjoyable.
It was the bitter cold that was a challenge.
My two granddaughters (age six and three) wanted to be outside.
Their mama bundled them up in coats, snow pants, boots, hats, and gloves.

I heard laughter and knew that they were having so much fun with their daddy.
I had been in the middle of things and had not looked out the window.
When I did, I saw the happiest snowman on the front lawn, facing the house for all to see.
He had sticks for arms, a carrot for a nose, and raisins for his eyes, smile, and buttons.

My daughter-in-love took a picture of the three of them.
Oh, the memories.
My son, not so very long ago, built a snowman with his siblings.
My son, not so long ago, was the little one and now he was the daddy.

When my granddaughters came inside, they kept running to the window to look out.
They just wanted to make sure the snowman was still there.
They waved to it and for a split second, I thought of The Snowman, by Raymond Briggs.
I half expected the happy snowman to come to life right there on our front lawn.

Like the little boy in The Snowman, they ran to the window as soon as they woke up.
Grandma, where is his smile?
I went into the dining room to get a better look.
There was the happy snowman with his stick arms, carrot nose, but no buttons or smile.

An animal must have eaten the raisins, I told them.
Perhaps it was a deer, I added.
No, Grandma. A deer would have eaten the carrot, the older one said.
I couldn’t argue with that; but who ate the raisins? I wondered.

Have you entered the storehouses of the snow, or have you seen the storehouses of the hail? (Job 38:22)

God knows, Grandma, I was told by my six year old granddaughter.
God does know.
God who knows where the snow and the hail and the sleet are stored.
Isn’t that a comfort?