Fluffy Grace

Snow always makes me think of grace. Always. There is something so sweet and gentle and yet thorough and complete about the way it covers ugly deadness with something so gorgeous and startlingly clean and fresh. Beautiful.

It is gentle enough to rest lightly on a tiny little berry or dried up stem. . .

But it is also strong enough and big enough and deep enough to fully cover wherever it lands.

But it doesn't erase what it covers. It just rests there until it eventually melts into its host. And the more it soaks into the ground and roots and stems it settles on, the more spectacular the following spring tends to be--alive with brilliance and color.

Similarly, when we are "under grace," it doesn't dissolve or disintegrate us into nothingness. Not at all. Rather, if we truly soak it in and let it penetrate down to the roots of our souls, we can't help but grow into something so much more vibrant and healthy and alive and beautiful than the withered vine or dried up leaf it found us as when it first settled upon us. Oh so sweet and oh so powerful. Grace.