early morning gifts.

I still remember the look of wonder on my dad's face as he picked me up and swirled me around the room. "Elora. Look. It's snowing."

And my eyes tried to take it in - tried to understand the white stuff falling from the sky and why it was so cold and wet and why mom and dad were giggling. But then I learned the art of a well-curved snowball and fell in love. We spent the day in the snow - me in my pink winter jacket and dad in his letterman - building a snowman rivaling those north-easterners.

Then there was the time in high school where we escaped the muggy climate for the mountains. Fresh powder took on new meaning as small white flakes fell from the sky and landed on our noses, sticking to our jackets and newly bought scarves. We stood on the side of the road in Loveland, Colorado arms wide and mouths in permanent shapes of glee. We may have been 16, but in that moment we were three.

And then there's our first snow - wrapped in the memory of Easter's fresh start. We ate wings and stared out the window as our small town turned into a veritable winter wonderland in spring. We laughed at the pup spinning and jumping and secretly wished to be as nimble - as carefree. Instead, we pulled out the camera and captured moments in freeze-frame. "So family will believe us" we said.

I'm a Texas girl. I don't see snow often. Give our roads a spit of ice and towns hide deep in the cover of news briefs and phone calls. There's something enchanting about a fresh blanket of snow. And perhaps it's because I've seen it a handful of times, but  it never gets old to me. Nothing emulates the pathetic fallacy of new beginnings like winter's wool.

Last week, in the middle of exhausting numbness, the Creator shook my expectations and gave me my own snow globe. Without any warning, I was back in my Father's arms squealing with delight. It was 5am and the neighborhood was still quiet with slumber, but the gift of a world turned white was everything my tired soul needed. I breathed deep the brisk air and felt the sharp intake of breath when I stepped barefooted and pajama-clad onto the snow. And I couldn't help it. Despite early morning's soft kiss barely showing in the sky, despite the nagging thoughts still pushing their way for attention, a giggle escaped my lips and I hop-skipped inside.

And that's when I knew - just like He paints the sky in new colors every morning and just like He grants me moments of reprieve when I don't even know I need it, this blanket of ice, this dirt turned white, was for me.

Posted on February 8, 2011 .