It snowed this past Wednesday in Waco, Texas, an obviously
uncommon occurrence and one that I felt needed documentation. As a Montana/Iowa
girl recently relocated to the Lone Star state, I felt it was my duty to take
pictures of it with my crappy cell phone and to build a mini snowman. I did
both these things before it all melted away about three hours after the first
fluffy snowflakes drifted out of the grey February sky.
As fleeting as that flurry of winter weather was, it is
probably going to be one that I remember for years to come – a fact that seems
odd at first. Having lived in Montana and Iowa, two states that get an alarming
amount of both snow and cold, I know I’ve weathered (pun definitely intended)
much worse winter storms than any I will encounter here in Texas. I’ve driven
through blizzards going less than 10 mph, walked to class in well below zero
temperatures – basically I like to think I’m a seasoned veteran at this winter
thing; a sight more experienced than these Texans, so I said to myself.
But the truth is, I was just as thrilled and in awe of that
short snowfall as the Texans I work with. I took tons of low quality cell phone
pictures, caught those huge snowflakes on my tongue, and built a tiny snowman
that I also took a picture of and sent to most of my relatives.
Why is it that we most appreciate a thing once we no longer
have it at our disposal?
If we lived in Iowa or Montana right now, I’d probably be
complaining about the cold and snow; I’d long for these greener grasses. But
now that I’m here on the other side I miss the ice and snow terribly.
What a fickle nature we humans have! We think we want
something and then when we have it, we’d like to return it for the old thing.
For me, this obviously goes for more than just weather. I
miss my home in both Montana and Iowa, my family, my friends. I have to admit
that I’ve been a bit of a pill here in Texas. I’ve focused so much on what I
didn’t like about being here that I know I’ve overlooked the good things – the
things I’m going to miss when we leave this place.
One I’m glad I didn’t overlook is that short-lived magical
snow that was gone just in time for me to be on the roads again; I can’t say
that’s happened so often in either Montana or Iowa. More than that though, I’ll
remember the child-like joy that the Texans and I held in our hearts as we
marveled at a sky full of snow.
I hope that’s the first of many little wonders I’ll take
with me from Waco.
I’ll end with a prayer request: That I no longer look at
Texas through the lens of Montana or Iowa. Please pray that instead, I’ll be
aware of God’s mercies that are unique to this place and time and be grateful
for them.
A big thank you and hug to my brother who told me to write
about my tiny snowman.
