Snow falls silent, marshmallow hemlocks bear the weight. Tears slide down faces, hearts bursting open. The wind picks up and drifts emotions of breathing lives until the walls are high and the paths are all narrow and jagged. The snow seems content to fall silent and sometimes devastatingly still. Yet, the trees stand ready with wild ragged limbs, just longing to be filled.
The trees stand in waiting and let the flakes build up on top of each other. The flakes are but miniscule, why give them trouble when they fall? We can make room for all of these life things, say the trees. We have nothing to hide. We can carry the load that life brings; let none be set to the side. Yes, we will love hard when life stings, always and forever with heavy branch arms open wide.
Because the snow doesn’t ask where it may sit, and emotions, neither do they. Snow just falls wherever it hits, and emotions will shift on you day after day. There is no question of reason. No rhythm you might be able to time. And still the tree will shift to carry every emotion and season. Telling each one of them, I’ve got you, you’re going to be fine.
I settle in my corner of the couch now and just watch the snow fall. I ask the sky, are the flakes really going anywhere but down? Are they missing their call? Because I don’t want to miss what’s ahead for me. I don’t want to be the snow piling emotions on others. Gosh, I just want to be the tree. I want to make things better than how I found them. Let everyone with a story come and be told. I want to usher in understanding, and never condemn. I want give hope without commanding. To tell others be heard, be seen, be bold.
I’d tell them it’s okay to feel the snow all cold in your hands. It’s okay to feel things and let them melt in your palms; catch them on your tongue even and swallow them down. Feel them inside and sort them out. Because once you know the things that you know, you can catch others on their way down. And when you know what you know, because you dealt with how you felt, then you can be a rescuer in the midst of doubt.
And isn’t that why we’re all here anyway? Because God’s son gave his life for us on a tree on a Friday? He didn’t cower or hide from the spitting skies, he didn’t call Heaven’s angels down when accused of ugly lies. He let God’s will take over so we could be free. He died arms open wide and rose again so the truth we would see. And now that I know what I know, I just want to tell everybody. No, I can’t settle for being the snow, I just want to be the tree.