The Green Frog Blog!

Saturday, February 20, 2010


Love, like water, comes to us in many forms. Romance erupts like a thunderstorm from the clouds, piercing our hearts with its thunder. Friendship gathers like daily dew in the morning quenching our thirst in small ways. And the love of God falls like snow in silent beauty covering our crimson wounds with His forgiveness. In this strange life love is often enhanced by harsh, cold realities. Against the background of winter love comes to us in the darkest hour, into the coldest heart, revealing God's undeniable beauty.

My love of winter runs deep and wide. As most children, I cherished snow days, bowls of warm chili, and cups of steaming hot chocolate. Yet I was prematurely aware that winter was more than a pause, it was God's season of rest-for all of us. With longer nights forcing us to retire from days of farm work earlier after harvest had past we found time for each other. And as if we were being pleasantly punished, the occasional ice storm marched us to family conversations huddled around the pale but perfect light of a fireplace. And the smell of smoke, the smell of pine, and the smell of nutmeg made us pause from the distractions of busy daily life to acknowledge the brilliant plan of discipline by our Creator. God wants us to rest and will use force to make it happen.

Our abundance of snow this winter inspired my inner child to gather a few friends, take a break from the coffee shop, and try to break my personal record of a twelve foot snowman. So one sunny, but cold, afternoon five of us spent four hours rolling snowballs in less than perfect conditions. We actually had to use a flower watering can to moisten the snow so it would stick. Eventually we managed to create our own personal tower of Babel complete with a fifty-five gallon trash can for a hat. Any higher and it would have caused a plane crash.

The next day our giant dirty snowman became an instant celebrity with several people stopping by to pose for a photograph beside the behemoth. One young man submitted his photo with our snowman to a Memphis television station and took credit for our giant piece of ice. The young people who helped me build the snowman were very upset that someone else had stolen their claim to fame. It was a beautiful life lesson that people take credit for stuff that isn't theirs all the time. Al Gore created the Internet. All pie is mine.

The second life lesson followed just four days later when under the cover of darkness someone came and knocked our snowman into the road. I knew it was almost guaranteed to happen. Teenagers cannot resist the challenge of tipping over a monument that would naturally disappear on its own. Cow tipping is a myth. Snowman tipping is real. The lesson here is a very important one: snowmen and pyramids disappear, but love last forever.

We seek to define ourselves by our accomplishments and wrap our lives around the lie that people will cherish the things we leave behind. There is nothing we can build that will last. It will all melt or be buried by the sands of time. What does remain is the love we share along the way. Love endures every season and comes to us in many ways. Love never ceases.

I pray that we all pause while nights are still long and the air is still cold to rest in the fact that we are loved by God. I seriously doubt if our snowmen or our pyramids have ever impressed God. I seriously doubt if God can be impressed. But He can love and be loved. And so can we. You can spend your whole life building snowmen to have someone knock them over or watch them melt. Never fall in love with a snowman, fall in love with the people who help you build it, and a God who provides the snow, the sun that melts it, and the storm that makes it fall again. And remember, yellow snow is dangerous but reminds us we are not alone. Love never ceases.


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