Fresh Fridays: You handle snow well

I couldn’t see.  Gobs of ice clung to my glasses and flew into my eyes. Condensation made it worse, my exhalations into my scarf fogged up my lenses.  Oh if only glasses had miniature windshield wipers!

Two weeks ago, a winter storm took us by surprise. It was a horrendous morning commute. I was only a few steps away from the front door, but struggling to move forward. The wind gusts blew cold and fierce, the snow horizontal. I stumbled a bit, side to side, raising my arms in attempt to balance.

Not far ahead, my coworker pushed on, ploughing the sidewalk in attempt to clear the pathway for staff and patients. I considered shouting out hi, but he wouldn’t hear me with the loud sounds of the plough.

Mid morning, my coworker rushed into the building to warm his hands. His hands were nearly frostbit, his gloves cold and wet from ploughing snow for several hours.

“Are you okay?! It’s horrible out there,” I said.

“I know, my hands are frozen,” he gasped, exhausted.  His hair was wet, his face red, his coat soaked.

“Seriously, the wind was so strong, I almost didn’t make it,” I exclaimed.

He laughed.  “I know… I saw you earlier trying to walk in…” He lifted his arms and pretended to be blown backwards, as if levitating through the air, Matrix style. “You handle snow well.”

We erupted in laughter.

~ ~ ~

It’s these kinda moments, in which people look at me in bewilderment. They just don’t get it.

“Why did you leave your previous job, nurse at bigteachinghospital, to come and work here? When it’s far, you have no car, and it pays less?”

I would shrug. “It doesn’t make sense to you, but it does to me.”

Because I like working with this community. 

Because I’m supposed to be here.

~ ~ ~

Yesterday, it snowed again.

But this time, it was delightful, magical. Millions of fluffy flakes in the air. They looked like irregularly shaped cotton balls, light and fluffy, dancing in the air, swaying this way, swaying that way, enjoying the descent.

From afar, they were large balls, wispy yet thick. I reached out to examine them more slowly as they landed upon my black glove.  One cotton ball was comprised of at least 20 microscopic snowflakes, each intricately designed by the Maker, each with their own distinct pattern. The mere sight of it brought forth such glee; I suddenly felt giddy like a child, grasping outwards in a vain effort to catch them all.

Yes, it is nearly the end of March, and I am eagerly awaiting Spring.

Till it arrives, may God continue to teach me to embrace and endure the storms, come what may.