The Good Lord just dumped three feet of snow in my driveway (give or take a few inches—mostly give). This blog is late because I couldn’t move from the couch long enough to type. Even now, my arthritic fingers are screaming in pain with every keystroke. Oh, the humanity!
I don’t remember how many times I went out during (and after) the two-day storm to shovel. I DO remember that each time I prepared to go out, my old body kept shouting in agony for me to stay in by the fire.
In between two of our shoveling sessions, my darling wife and I indulged in a hot meal. As we bowed to ask for God’s blessing, a strange thing came out of my mouth.
“Get behind me, Satan!”
During the grace, I thanked God for the snow. As soon as that phrase came out of my mouth, I was asking myself where that came from. Immediately after saying, “Amen,” I almost quoted the Scripture in which Jesus said, “Get behind me, Satan!”
Before I could get that out, Denise asked, “Thanks for the snow?” She obviously knew the pain I was in and the mixed emotions I was struggling to hide.
That’s when the “pastor” in me arose. I promptly replied, “Give thanks in all circumstances.” And there it was—all out on the table (or the kitchen island, as it were). I was giving thanks for something I hate.
It’s not that I hate the gift of snow. It’s quite beautiful and fascinating. I do, however, hate the shoveling, the pain, and the feeling of immobility that follows. Yet, I give thanks—not sure why, but I do.
Church services were cancelled yesterday. Getting to the site of our corporate worship would not have been worth the struggle or the danger of traveling under such conditions. In the midst of one of my digging expeditions, I joked with my neighbor that, “Preaching is much more fun.” I laughed, but I meant every word of it.
“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.”
I worked hard on Sunday. Excavated in my driveway twice more. The sun had come out by this time, and the snow was getting ever heavier. It was so bright, I had to wear sun glasses. My body, wracked with pain, was giving thanks (thanks that the snowfall had ceased, and thanks that the quarry was beginning to slowly disappear). There was light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.
As I conclude, I’m trying to think of a reason for this whole thing. What’s the moral of the story? There are things I’d like to say that my body still won’t allow. What’s the silver lining in all of this?
I’ve seen times in the news where people have hurricane parties. Yesterday evening, some of us in the hood had a chili party. From that perspective, I could truly give thanks—even for snow.
I’m thankful that, “the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.” And I’m praying that he taketh away all this snow…ASAP.