There’s a rumor of snow for New Year’s Eve in North Texas.
All logical human beings would tell me not to get my hopes up.
If you are unfamiliar with weather in Texas, I have to warn you – we get our hopes up really high for snow several times a year. And 9 times out of 10, not a single flake falls from the sky. At the mere hint of freezing rain and a temperature of 32 degrees, we prepare our hearts and minds for a blanket of white. We forget that more often than not, the temperature will hover at 36 or drop to 20. Or if we are lucky, the temperature will be right at 32 but the rain will unexpectedly disappear from the forecast leaving us staring out our windows wondering why the clouds don’t care about our anticipation.
Still, every time snow is even a faint possibility, we can’t help but let our hopes soar.
There’s something about hope that just shouldn’t be quashed when it decides to come flooding in.
I remember the last time the yard was actually blanketed with white. It was March of 2015 and my twins were just a couple months old. I dressed them in these really warm outfits for just a quick picture in the snow. I remember thinking life was so hard back then with three under three and two boys that cried all night long. I was just finishing up my maternity leave and I didn’t know how much I needed the hope of an early March forecast of snow. Though that moment of snow falling on the ground brought me such peace and joy, it was the hope of its arrival that fortified me.
We may not get snow on New Year’s Eve, but there is something about the hope of it – the anticipation of it that is bringing me the same peace and joy as those few moments of standing in a snow covered yard with newborns.
It’s making me feel like maybe we got this after all.
My prayer this morning is that we are graced with the freedom to let hope flood in even when others remind us to be practical. No matter the actual outcome, it is the strength and comfort and life that hope brings that will save us in the end.
If we only let it.