The Promises of Christmas ~ Snow

Happy Christmas Dear Reader,

My first white Christmas came when I was four.  It was also the year that I first began to comprehend the promises of Christmas.  The gifts I received that year were those to fill a boy with wonder.  I was taken to feed reindeer in the snow. 

Photo by Echo Mills 12/08/17

It was not for many more years that I regularly have been able to have a white Christmas.  I treasure it.  Yesterday my family in north Georgia received four inches of December snow.  It will not likely last until Christmas but the pictures and were magical.  They showed the wonder of fresh snow on still verdant woods.  They showed the joy of my seven-year-old nephew at the thought of a snow day.

There is a promise in December snow.  It is the promise of Narnia.  We are reminded that we may have winter but we also have Christmas.  It is the painting of the world with hope when it is gray and barren.  It is the promise that there will be new life.  It is the beauty in the world that is for everyone if we will only see it.

The first snow each year I sit with my pipe and bowl and take in the smell, the beauty, and the wonder.  I remind my heart of hope and promise.  The smoldering Cavendish keeps my hands warm.  The hope keeps my heart thus.  It is often my best December prayer.

Visiting a Crystal Gallery

Silently the clouds crept across the sky,

Negating the brilliance of the haunting harvest moon.

Only the brightest of stars could I still spy,

While the cottony gray darkness still had rips and tatters.

Sending chills over my exposed face,

North winds begin to whip across the field fiercely

Offering me an invitation to retrace

What steps I have taken and return to my cozy home.

Something inside drives me to pursue,

Narrowing my focus to climb the hoary-frosted hill.

Only the higher field will give a proper view

When the dance begins in earnest.

Softly they begin their waltzing flight

Navigating their way through the winter wind,

Outstanding crystals of drifting delightful white

Whispering to me that God is still an artist.

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn

Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”

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