He will play and play. And play. In the snow.
Pure delight. Enjoyment. In his own world, talking and acting out scenarios that are his secrets. The evergreen trees hide him from enemies I never see.
He doesn’t get cold. Or rather the cold doesn’t bother him. The delight in what he is doing outweighs anything else.
Sometimes he just lays in it. Looking up at the sky. Carefree. Loved.
When he is covered in it, I imagine he is pretty close to knowing a God who delights in him. Who sends snow just so he can go sledding and throw snowballs and make an adventure.
Joy. Satisfaction. Delight. His soul resting in its true home.
I watch him through the window sometimes. He opens my eyes to see God who comes close to us through the snow. Touching our skin with his creation.
He opens my heart to remember God who came even closer than the snow. In a baby born to show us the depth of his delight in us.
