I sit writing and there is snow falling on the daffodils outside my window. Thick damp flakes of winter’s last stand blow around a blooming forsythia.
“Really?” I ask the sky. There is no response, only clouds which loom heavy. Last week it was 70 degrees and I cleared winter debris from my garden while the baby and I delighted in the sunshine and a wind that actually blew warm on our light-starved faces. Do you ever stop and wonder what Winter must think of us-so impatient in a modern world of instant gratification?
As a little girl, we waited out the last weeks of winter for our small town Dairy Queen to reopen with the advent of spring. Ice cream tasted better then. It tasted like six months of waiting combined with drips of sweet vanilla cream and the wonder of daylight savings. Sometimes there is a great joy that follows the waiting. There is a reward in patience. The gift of God’s perfect timing.
I see it in the snow today. It falls from the sky and I can feel His voice all around me: “Almost, Dear One,” He says.