It’s that time of year where it seems like it seems like half of the population is unhappy that yet another snowstorm is in the forecast and the other half feels the need to point out that this is New England after all and, thus, it’s supposed to snow here. Whether you are a snowbird who would happily flee to warmer climes or a polar bear who delights in the snowy Arctic blasts, the cyclical change of seasons is a natural rhythm of the world in which we live. In our modern times, with all our creature comforts we can find ourselves out-of-sync with the rhythms of the seasons. 

Our homes, offices, schools, and shops are all well-lit and climate controlled. Our cars are heated and some of us are fortunate to have remote starters or seat heaters to keep those cars extra toasty. We have the luxury of thinking that winter is less formidable than it was in the days of our ancestors and, in doing so, we lose something. We lose touch with our role as created beings in God’s creation. We lose touch with the natural cycles of new life, growth, dormancy, and rest. With our ability to thwart the darkness and cold, we have created our own never-ending cycle of productivity and busyness.  With the advent of consistent internet connectivity and online instruction, even our children no longer know the simple joys and freedom a snow day brings. A forecasted snowstorm is no longer viewed as a necessary and natural part of winter but as an annoying interruption to our daily lives. There are some who see a snowstorm almost as a personal affront, a sort of proof that God or the Universe or Mother Nature is simply trying to make life extra difficult.  

But what might we notice if we could shift our point-of-view? What if instead of an interruption, we could see a snowstorm as an invitation? The snowstorm that makes it difficult, or even dangerous, to travel leads to an unexpected day home. Events are postponed or cancelled. Even church services end up cancelled. Can we see that as an unplanned sabbath day: a day for rest, for self-care, for creative pursuits, for relationships, and for prayer? 

The Great White Nuisance that blocks up our sidewalks and buries our cars will also flow down into the frozen ground to water the flower bulbs. We take delight in the crocuses, snowdrops, and glory-of-the-snow when their flowers begin to appear, but can we also learn to take delight in the winter weather that is part of their lifecycle?  Can we notice the sound-dampening effects of the snow as the world grows hushed and quiet? Can we see the way the snow settles onto each twig and branch of the trees? Can we watch the quiet, steady transformation of the landscape into something fresh, new, untouched, and unspoiled – at least for a little while? Can we remember that the babbling brooks of springtime get their start in the snows of winter?  The snow that snarls roads also refills the reservoirs we depend on for fresh water. 

With a bit of intentionality and patience, we may just find ourselves standing at the window or on the porch with a warm cuppa in our hands, in awe at the beauty, intricacy, and interconnectedness of creation as the flakes waft downwards.  Perhaps, we can find a sort of quiet joy that God has tapped us on the shoulder and called us to see the world around us as something to be cherished rather than something to be conquered. It might do us all a bit of good to slow down and remember that we are human beings, not human doings, and that we too have our place within the cycles of creation.  

Dormancy and rest are not faults to be overcome, but pauses that are necessary for growth and new life.  The sabbath was created for humankind, even when it arrives in the uncontrollable, unstoppable, and inconvenient form of a snowstorm. Turn the television off. Put the shovel down. Pick up your favorite warm beverage and take some time to notice God’s handiwork. 

Be safe. Stay warm. Take the snow day. The busyness of the modern world will still be there waiting when the snow stops.