Early this week I opened my weather app and noticed a snowflake hanging out on Friday. As a born and raised southern girl, I openly mocked this by posting a photo of it on my Instagram story with the word “riiiiiiight.” Snow in December is almost unheard of and snow this early in December was laughable. When the snowflake was still hanging out there on Thursday evening, I decided I should probably check the weather channel website to see if this was really going to do anything.
The snow began to fall steadily about mid-morning yesterday but temperatures never reached freezing so it took a while for it to even begin sticking on trees and grass. I stayed at work till three as I had planned and then took the boys to get their hair cut — because southern snow or not, this mama has a weekend to-do list. After their hair cuts and a quick run to Target for snow day essentials, we made our way home over slushy roads and got to see our little house in the snow for the first time.
One of my very favorite Christmas movies of all time is White Christmas. As a little girl growing up in Texas, my sister and I pretty much memorized the sisters routine and I was in love with Danny Kay. I coveted the 1950’s wardrobes and longed to live in a world of train travel and big band music. Every year as the final scenes played out before my eyes, my heart would swell with all the warm fuzzy feelings but there was also a tiny little wistful ache there because I longed to watch the snow fall while the lights twinkled on my Christmas tree. That’s how it’s supposed to be, right? We all feel it, whether it’s been ingrained in us by Dickens, Rockwell, or Hollywood, Christmas is supposed to come with twinkling lights bouncing off fresh snow, cozy fires, and family gathered around. Every year as those ski lodge doors opened and the sleigh pulled by, I would dream of the day I would be an adult and live somewhere that actually had a chance for a white Christmas. As I’m sure you know, life doesn’t always turn out the way plan as children. I have landed in North Carolina so every year we watch Christmas and every year I am left thinking, “Oh well. Maybe next year.”
Last night we turned on the Christmas lights, put on our cozy pajamas, and watched White Christmas while sipping hot cocoa. We laughed at Danny and Bing and marveled at the fact that Vera could tap her toes that way. And when those ski lodge doors slid open, my heart filled with all those warm fuzzy feelings again but this time a contented joy replaced the ache of longing.
As I drifted off to sleep last night I realized how my White Christmas experience fits so perfectly into the the season of Advent. Even as the children of Israel waited for the promised Messiah, we wait for His return. At Christmas we remember His first coming but our hearts still ache for the Home we were created to inhabit and the joy of our great hope realized. Last night was a tiny window in the world — a short glimpse at the joy that is to come. So as I enjoy the view and a slower pace today, I wait in hope for the day He makes all things new — maybe soon. Maybe next year.