A New Perspective

It was as though the city was hushed by the quieting presence of cold whiteness. Tiny flakes of Winter were sailing through the sky and coming all the way down to touch our cheeks, as we trudged in the fallen heaps of its white glory, just for fun. I giggled, as I saw two large bushes that had turned into mushroom shapes overnight, with gigantic white tops rounding elegantly. They looked like the perfect place for the child-version of me to make a house and spend an afternoon of play.

Thoughts of life as a child led me down a lane of memory to the first snowstorm that I have a lot of memories of. I was just a week into being 5 years old when the skies astounded everyone by dumping 30" of snow on our world in one memorable day. 

This is the snowstorm as it appeared to my little five-year-old self:

I woke up one morning to the troubling fact that we couldn't open our front door. Snow was almost up to the top of the porch! Papa had to go out another way and shovel a pathway through the snow mountain so we could even get out of the house. I felt the excitement my parents exhibited, as they strapped on their skis and went cross-country skiing literally OVER fields and fences both. They missed the snows of Colorado, and this was a day to delight in! Eventually it was my turn to get to take a walk out in the white world. The white brightness of sun-on-snow hurt my eyes, as I clunked in my snow boots over the snowy path my Papa had shoveled out. Eagerness to experience this snowy wonderland filled my little heart. Traces of concern nudged at the eagerness, however, as I realized that my world had just dramatically changed. Nothing looked like it had before.

Wearing my little cozy Winter boots, I tried to keep up with the long steps of my parents. "Hurry!" I thought to myself. Just then a dramatic, terrible thing happened. My left leg sank down, down, down, past the top crust of the snow! Quickly, I jerked my leg upwards, but to my horror, it was bootless! My foot in its wet sock was helplessly dangling midair. In cold surprise, I ascertained that my precious boot was about as far down as I was tall! "Mama! Mama! My boot!" I screamed. I was sure it was gone, and I would need to be carried, which would be embarrassing and NOT fun. I figured I might never see that boot again. 

That's pretty much where the memory ends, although I'm positively sure my mom came to my rescue and pulled my boot out of its cold hole for me. As I trudged along yesterday, purposefully walking in snow over my boots, I wondered how much of my little five-year-old horror at losing a boot would've melted away if I had known the snow wasn't as permanent as it seemed. I think I actually didn't realize that the mountains of snow would eventually melt away! I don't think I comprehended that the white that covered my little world was only temporary and would disappear altogether. Neither did I think about it that my Papa could dig that boot right out for me. I only thought about the crisis in light of my limited capabilities and perspective.

As I purposefully kicked through the snow drifts yesterday I pulled a charming little lesson out of that dusty memory.

Sometimes when in a panic all seems lost, the biggest thing I need to find is a new perspective. 

The snow will disappear.
I can't get the boot, but I know someone who can.
Even if the snow could have claimed my boot, the snow will go when the sun comes out.
It won't hurt my foot to get snow on it.
Someday I won't even need these boots anymore because I will outgrow them.
The air is clean, the sky is bright blue, and the world is gorgeous.
Being carried could be fun...