I’m a Little Snowflake
I’m from southern California. I grew up about fifteen miles from the beach. I saw snow falling once during the first forty-nine years of my life, on a trip to the mountains about three hours away. It was unimpressive, as it was dark at the time, and it was barely snowing.
At forty-nine, I moved to southern Oregon. We have snow here—not a lot, but enough that I can say I’ve seen “real snow” coming down. The second winter we were here, I saw my first real-live snowflakes. I had known snowflakes were real the same way I know that the pyramids are real. I’d seen them in books, on the internet, on TV, and on movies. But I had never seen them in real life. I had no idea I would be able to see them without a microscope. I mean, I’m old—I had to use my extra-strength reading glasses, but not a high-powered scientific device, just glasses I bought off Amazon for $12.00—and that was for a two-pack.
I was outside watching snow fall the other day. Just looking straight up in the sky and watching it fall. (I may or may not have had my mouth open trying to catch some of them, but I’m not going to admit it one way or the other.) They looked like really tiny paratroopers barreling down for a mission. Purposeful. Determined. Joyful.
I wondered what they were thinking.
Immediately, I corrected myself with a resigned sigh. Snowflakes probably don’t have souls, I reasoned. They only exist for a moment. They’re just frozen drops of water on the verge of being recycled into something else in the water cycle.
Unlike me.
I was suddenly filled with joy and inspiration. Like me, snowflakes are here for a moment, and then the elements that comprise them regroup in order to make a different body. My life is longer than theirs, but the same phenomenon happens to us both. Life, followed by bodily disintegration, as our souls fly up to God.
I got two takeaways from this revelation.
The first revelation was that it’s not outside the realm of possibility that snowflakes have souls. Great fodder for the imagination and possibly for a future fantasy novel, but not so relevant to this blog post.
The second revelation was that, like a snowflake, I am small. I am here for a breath of time and gone in an instant. James 4:14 says pretty much the same thing—“You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.” (NASB) There is comfort in this, for me as a mom, and in particular, as a special needs mom. I try to hard to be in control, to take care of everybody and everything. I fret and worry, stress and work, and do everything in my power to make things okay for my kids. I forget that I’m small. I’m a vapor that is here for a second—a snowflake that melts after a moment or maybe a day. It’s freeing. God is the one who is keeping the world spinning on its axis, who is keeping my world spinning on its axis—not me. Not only can I trust Him, I have no choice about it. And He is faithful.
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Photo by Damian McCoig on Unsplash