Proof of His Presence

Three weeks ago, my husband and I packed all of our belongings into a Penske truck with the help of eighteen amazing family members and friends. We drove from Colorado to Virginia, where Aaron would start his new job.

A few weeks before we left, I began to grieve the loss of all that felt like home. It was the people I knew I’d miss the most–my family, my church, and the friends I’d known and loved for years.

Yet I kept talking about the snow.

I’ve always loved the snow. Few things bring me as much joy–no, elation–as opening the blinds to discover three, five, ten inches of powdery white goodness blanketing the earth. I love watching the snowflakes fall–noticing their winding paths from the sky. There is nothing more peaceful than the quiet calm that follows a winter storm. And the way the whole world sparkles once the sun finally peeks out from behind the clouds? It’s beauty unlike any other.

I wanted a snowstorm before we left. I knew we’d occasionally get light snow in Virginia, but it wouldn’t be exactly the same. The problem was that it had been such an unusually dry, warm winter in Colorado. The chances of a storm seemed slim to none.

Our last weekend in Colorado finally arrived. As I brushed my teeth that morning, I felt two things at once: Excitement for this adventure with my husband, sadness for all we had to leave behind. Excited to go, sad to leave. I guess sometimes that’s life.

I heard my husband call from the living room, “Sam, you have to see this.”

I figured it was the sunrise–we love a good sunrise. I opened the bathroom door, turned the corner, and felt my chest tighten.

Snow.

And not just a dusting. Four inches of beautiful, powdery snow.

It felt like a whisper from God: I love you and I’m here.

***

Three weeks later, I’m sitting in our new apartment in Virginia, watching out the window as small, white flakes fall from the sky, and I know that it’s true.

He loves me, and He’s right here.