Here One Minute, Gone The Next

Last Friday morning I was fumbling around the house trying to get Little Man and myself dressed so we could run some errands.  The phone rang, and as I paused to chat with a friend I noticed the first flurries. I figured it would only last a few minutes, then be over.  But the intensity increased and the flakes got bigger, and for the next two hours the biggest, fluffiest snow rained down torrentially until more than an inch covered the ground.  I chucked my plans for the morning, poured another cup of coffee, and situated myself onto the couch, perched in front of a window, wrapped in a blanket; Little Man grabbed Mickey Mouse and his sippy cup and positioned his chair directly in front of the storm door as if to have a front row seat - separately, yet together we enjoyed every second of mother nature's morning movie!

It was beautiful.  Soothing.  Peaceful.  

Less than two hours after the last flake fell, however, there was virtually no evidence that the white stuff had been there at all.  

It was gone.  Melted.  Dried. 

Since then I've been in a contemplative mood, thinking about how Friday's unexpected snow is really a picture of life.  Yes, we experience longer seasons (the elementary years, the teen years, the college years, the single years, the married years, the raising kids years, the empty nest years, the retirement years), but in the midst of those seasons, the moments of life happen:

• snuggling a sleeping baby
• breathtaking sunsets
• family game nights
• slumber parties
• laughing so hard you snort
• late night, deep conversations
• holding hands at the movies
• graduations
• weddings
• great vacations
• surprise drop-by visitors
• snow storms

Moments that we wish would last longer.  Times we wish we could recapture.  They might have lasted a few minutes, several days, a couple of months, or even years.  But they all have something in common - that feeling of being here one minute, and gone the next.

I'm not gonna lie - I was sad that the snow didn't hang around long enough for a back yard romp with a devilishly handsome two year old.  But maybe the gift wasn't the snow.  Maybe the gift was giving myself permission to quit with the plans and the busyness and be still long enough to enjoy the beauty of the moment before it was gone.

I guess I never pegged Dr. Seuss as a philosopher, but I do think he's onto something here. Whether it's a temporary, short-lived sadness or a deeper, more profound grief; both produce longing that is rooted in love.  Longing for more beautiful snowfalls or sunsets. Aching for more relationship like the connection forged while talking over cold pizza at 2 a.m.  Yearning for people and places whose time in your life has been fulfilled and they are no longer with you. These pinings of our souls are only possible because love is present in our lives in some shape, fashion or form.  And love comes from God.  That's reason enough to smile.

"God is love.  Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him...

We love because he first loved us."

I John 5:16,19