I am wakened in the grey light by her whisper. “Mom, I need to show you something. Something that happened outside in the night. It’s not what you expected.”
My sleepy eyes come in to focus on her smiling face. She points to the window, eager with her secret.
I had known of its possibility, looking at the forecast last night. Yet it still surprises me now, as the first snow of the season always does. The white magic has gently coated the autumn world, icing the grass, frosting the pumpkins on the porch, dusting the carrot tops dozing in the garden.
Too often I am guilty of seeing the world through mud-coloured glasses. But this morning, my vision is wiped clear. Children have a way of waking you to wonder. It is their peculiar and powerful gift. To have their eyes – this is a grace of God. To know winter’s first kiss as pure joy – this, too, is a grace of God.
The sun breaks through the grey clouds over the hill, and the crystal covering sparkles even as the golden leaves are set on fire. The kids have already raced outside, snowsuits over pajamas, convinced that God sent the snow for their own mittened pleasure. Perhaps they are right.
And so this Monday morning we begin again. Begin with wonder, begin with grace, begin with new-fallen joy.
This is the mercy of each morning, if we have eyes to see.
“The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.”