If we stop long enough to appreciate the small things, they can greatly enhance our lives.

Like snow. 

Last weekend, it was so warm out, I was certain that spring was here at last so I put fertilizer down on the lawn. It snowed the next day. And the next. Then it warmed up a bit, melted the snow, then dumped on us again. We got at least fourteen inches or more. Heavy, wet stuff.

It was hard work shoveling that heavy snow, so with our bodies aching, my husband and I decided to get take-out food from a nearby Mexican restaurant. As we drove home, we noticed how the trees on both sides of the road, some as tall as four-story buildings, were covered with a thick frosting and glitter of snow. And silence. Everything that had been outside for the past few days was covered in intricate patterns—houses, mailboxes, wire fences, electric boxes, meadows, shrubs, cars, lawns. Evergreen trees’ branches were bent to the ground as if bowing to the splendor (and weight) of the world. It was truly a magical sight.

Before the snow fell, my daffodils and hyacinths were in bloom, so I cut several of them and brought them inside since I knew they probably wouldn’t survive the predicted snowfall. I set them in a glass of water on the kitchen table and marveled at how their perfume filled the entire room and at the complexity of their beautiful faces—bright yellow frills and petals and stamens on the daffodils and little purple drops of sunshine in the hyacinths. Pure brilliance. Pure joy.

The weekend before the snowfall, my husband and I went for a drive to a popular nearby lake. Because of the social-distancing orders in place due to coronavirus, there were no boats on the lake, something I have never seen on this lake. The water was calm, making its expanse seem even larger than before and I felt a sense of peace come over me as I gazed at its grandeur and inhaled deeply of the fresh mountain air.

I’ve also been missing my family something fierce lately, so our son emailed me a photo of our granddaughter, which I promptly saved as my desktop background on my computer so I can see her shining face everyday. And he sent me a video of her laughing. I think the sound of a baby laughing is the most beautiful sound in all the world.

And those eyes. So innocent and full of hope. I can’t stop looking at those eyes. There comes a time in a child’s life, when the innocence goes from those eyes, and to me, that’s a rather sad time because I think if we could all practice some of that innocence and lack of prejudice as we grow older, our world would be a better place.

Then there’s my dog. I let her out first thing in the morning after all that snow had fallen and the first thing she did was find her ball, that looked like a giant marshmallow in the yard because it was covered with snow. She pushed it around with her nose, romping and playing in drifts there were up to her chest, and she’s not a small dog. My dog didn’t complain that it was cold outside. She simply enjoyed the moment.

As I watched her pounce and spring with the exuberance of a deer, I thought about how I need to be more like that.

I need to appreciate the small things and live in the moment. I need to stop worrying about things over which I have no control—will I lose my job due to this virus? When will I be able to hug my family and friends? I pray with all my soul that none of my family or friends die from this and that people all over the world continue to recover and that no more will die… When will this be over? What’s going to happen to us? To our world? What about those on the front lines who are putting their lives in danger on a daily basis? And the grocery store workers and those with small businesses that have had to close their doors for good? What will happen to the homeless people and the elderly who are like sitting ducks in nursing homes?

My dog doesn’t worry about these things. She lives to chase squirrels and bunnies from the yard and surrounds herself with getting pets and whether or not I’m going to share a bite of my dinner with her.

My granddaughter doesn’t worry about stuff either. Her parents take care of her every need.

My flowers and trees don’t worry. They bloom every year in spite of the fact that they may get covered with snow before they have a chance to truly shine. 

The robins and the finches, the hawks and the eagles that visit my yard don’t worry either. They continue to sing their cheerful songs in spite of the global pandemic that’s happening all around them.

All of these have enriched my life, and perhaps, if coronavirus hadn’t forced me to slow down, I may not even have noticed them, much less appreciated the gifts they have to offer—peace within chaos. Peace and healing within grace…

…my prayer for the world.