IT'S FLUFFY . . .

I love that word: fluffy. We got about 16 inches of fluff so far, with another 2-4 inches slated to fall. That's a lot of fluff.

Church is cancelled today. This is wise, given that a large bulk of our congregation arrives from a good distance away, some driving upwards of an hour just to join our familial gathering each week. Hmmm ... just writing that sentence, I am made to pause and ponder the wonder of it. That we are so connected to each other, that we love each other so, that we need each other enough, whether we recognize it or not, that we would come from near and very far, just to be part of the same congregation each and every Sunday. It is truly humbling to recognize the unique and special family of which I am a member ...

I'm bummed that church is cancelled, though. Not just because I love driving through inclement weather in Good Girl and feeling completely invincible when I arrive at my destination. But I also love the "Little House on the Prairie" feeling that is evoked within me whenever I have to do anything in heavy snow. Traipsing through the banks of snow to stumble through the church doors, shaking myself off like a giant collie, undoing my scarf and hood to reveal a completely reddened face with my eyebrows and lashes fringed with snowflakes, greeting others who have been through the same amusing ordeal ... it's very Ingalls family, don't you think? (I'm also bummed because going out would have given me an excuse to stock up on orange juice, which I am suddenly and desperately craving, damn my sick self!)

Still, the words of truth and wisdom are correct, especially for me, especially at this time: "He says to the snow, ‘Fall on the earth,’ and to the rain shower, ‘Be a mighty downpour.’ So that all men he has made may know his work, he stops every man from his labour." (Job 37:6-7) I am stopped from my labour. Heck, I'm stopped from everything -- I'm still bleary and achy enough to not want to go anywhere, even if the roads were clear and I could. But truth rings loudly ... I am glad to have this day of rest, a real day of rest. I am glad to have this day to have my own church, to be forced to be still -- without meetings or greetings or practices -- and to think upon His work. Rare is this opportunity, even on Sundays.

(And of course, after I have my own church, I can tune into women's speed-skating.)