SNOW SWEET

It snowed last night, which is no big deal considering it's January in Illinois.

But this was a perfect snow.

There was no wind. The snow was light and fluffy. It was falling just heavily enough to be beautiful, but just lightly enough to be safe.

It was the kind of snow that made you think it wouldn't be so bad to live in a snow globe, where you could spend your evenings lying on the ground and watching millions of twinkles falling on your nose.

It was the kind of snow that made the yards and fields look pure and new. Untouched. Quiet.

It was the kind of snow that made the moon reflect silver through my bedroom window as I fell asleep. Soft silver. Silver velvet.

It was the perfect snow.

But today? Today the snow has been touched by man. It's gray and wet and dirty. Each street corner looks as though a cloudy day has simply collapsed on it. Like so many other things that God gives us, the snow that started out white - spotless, pure - has been discolored by our own touch. The dirt and grime of life have settled upon it and ruined the idyllic scene.

Until I look out my back window and see patches that are still untouched, except by the tiny footprints of children trudging through the yards on their way to play for just a few minutes before their noses sting and their eyes water, forcing them back inside to mothers who were enjoying a few minutes of peace.

Those tiny footprints? Now that's not a bad way to leave our mark on God's handiwork.

Not a bad way at all.