The Footprints Of Hope

I don a warm jacket, tug on a woolen hat, slip on the gloves. Opening the garage door leading to the backyard, there it is, all that unbelievable historic snow, the foreign substance which poured down upon Oregon this week. Snow. Sleds for kids. No school for all. The air is still, a quiet hush tempers the atmosphere, the routine traffic noise quelled under this blanket of snow.

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It's the second day after the big storm that I brave the cold, the chilly air and step outside to take a look, to take a fill of this unexpected delight. This event that changed our schedules, invaded our busy lives, caused us to slow, to look out in wonder at what He can do, and what we can see if only our eyes could open to the possibilities. I take a deep clean breath, exhaling into the vernal moment.

And that's when I notice the deep imprints visible in our backyard. Birds sing freely, a tree branch loosens a bit of snow, tiny white particles swirl in the breeze, My gaze catches those footprints again. That's what He does when we are blinded by now. When we can't step forward. When the hard is seriously too hard. He carries us. Feeling like an invisible snow angel hovered close, I let that thought sift through my mind for a few moments. Then I lift my eyes to the ice blue sky sensing a renewed sense of sight, a sprinkle of hope. And I offer up the age-old praise that cloaks all circumstances, planned or unplanned, wanted or unwanted, humbly saying it to Him with utmost reverence and awe.

Thank you.