I don’t reckon that we would be at all considered lonely or alone if I said that we’ve had an unusual number of snowstorms. I suspect there are a few million folks living on the east coast who might react with a decided lack of sympathy. They’ve used so much on themselves this bizarre winter that they don’t have any left for anyone else. Without getting into a pity party, then, let me just say that by mid-February, we have had more than three times the usual amount. And, we still another two months of potential snowfall left.

While I have tired of shoveling, I’d have to say it’s been a beautiful season, nonetheless. Up north of Saint Joe Saturday, I saw many drifts in the four-to-six-foot range and a few that would have topped ten feet. Whether deep or shallow, the drifts and seams of snow across the fields bear the markings of the wind. The overhanging edges of drifts droop and curl at the top of the banks, sifting below the breaks of fence and grass. In my passings, I wonder at the endless patterns, the dips, the smooth openings around the base of posts and trees. Such scenes would be impossible in a bare dusting of snow but are inevitable in such generous bestowings as these.

Such is the working in our hearts, minds, souls and spirits with the generous outpouring of God’s Holy Spirit. Sent to be near to us, to be our guide, our comforter, and our teacher when the Son returned to his Father’s side, Jesus did not mete out the Holy Spirit to us in a tiny, not-quite-enough rationing. Instead, we have been endued with the very nature and presence of God so that our former nature might be joyfully overwhelmed. With such supply, we cannot but bear in our lives the constant marking of the movings of the Spirit. In our yielding, we are filled with his presence.

H. Arnett

3/1/10