A couple days ago, my husband shoveled us out of the snow. It was just in the nick of time too. I believe with my all of my being that he was on the verge of having a full on attack of deliriousness as a side effect of the cabin fever he’d developed after being cooped in the house.
It’s like we were living in The Shining. We were trapped, confined, imprisoned for….for……months.
It was at least days.
Okay, okay, it was only about 6 hours. But that’s not what it felt like.
Unlike the movie, The Shining, with a little determination, and a lot of J-Dub’s muscle behind a snow shovel, we could get out and weren’t being chased through a maze by a madman with a hatchet. And I must admit I never witnessed twins murdered in our hallway, or blood pouring from the walls, or a small boy wiggling his finger growling REDRUM, REDRUM.
Alright, so I guess it wasn’t anything like The Shining. Our biggest problem was J-Dub was bored.
He said he was going out to the place. “The place” refers to our new little piece of land with a lovely trailer house {snicker, snicker} we bought that has given us fits and convulsions since closing day way back in October. I decided I should let the stink blow off me, and go see all the crazies driving around town in the snow, so I pulled on twenty extra layers and hopped in the passenger seat.
The snow was deep when we pulled up to the gate, so we decided it’d be easier to park in the county road than to drive through the deep snow.
J-Dub led the way. My boots were heavy and the snow was bottomless. Lifting my knees up to my chest to take my next labored step was difficult. I hollered out from behind him, “You’re going too fast!.” He turned his head and hollered back, “You’re going too slow!”
Knowing he wasn’t going to slow down and wait for me, I got the brilliant idea to walk in his footsteps, and save myself a lot of hard work.
I’m sure you’ve seen footprints in the snow before, I’m sure you’ve even walked in snow deeper than this, but if I told the truth that it was only a few inches deep instead of having you believe it was 3 1/2 feet, and that it was a very short walk to the front door, it doesn’t make me sound as tough, eh?
Walking in someone else’s footprints in the snow makes me all nostalgic and I think of the time when there was a “for real” blizzard and I walked with my dad to a little convenience store several, and I do mean several, blocks away ill-dressed in a measly pair of tennis shoes. We needed food. I was about 10, he was about 40, and I realize now how terribly I must have slowed him down. And if my memory serves me correctly, I begged to go, and he insisted I shouldn’t, until of course he gave in like dad’s sometimes do when their obnoxious daughters won’t stop whining. He probably at that point was thinking, “Fine, go with me, learn your lesson, you little ninny headed brat.”
And I did learn my lesson. It was cold, and I was miserable, and very glad to get home to my momma. That day I remember walking in his footsteps, which was not easy to manage since his stride was so much longer than mine. But all the same, I was thankful they were there.
The picture of these footprints in the snow also remind me of my Savior Jesus, and that beautiful poem Footprints in the Sand.
“LORD, you said that once I decided to follow
you, you’d walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most
troublesome times in my life,
there is only one set of footprints.
I don’t understand why when
I needed you most you would leave me.”The LORD replied:
“My son, my precious child,
I love you and I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints,
it was then that I carried you.”
Be blessed.
Angel Wheeler 