The falling snow in her quiet is my kin. The way she comes, soft, and nests unheard on tree limbs and rooftops—this, my song. She spins her dance through pale sky and wind with silent grace—no thunder clapping prologue…no window tapping insistence. Just this—slow falling accumulation that takes one by surprise in the morning.   
Today we are intimates, my cousin snow and I. This morning she came calling with this gift of replevied beauty—the land all luminous and pristine—and reminded me that it is still Christmas. I awakened to the remnants of a week of feasting…cookie crumbs on the floor, half-eaten trays of confectioneries on the counter, the festive dishes stacked in neat piles. And laundry.
Full days of merry led to neglect of the washing and I awaken this morning to this realization. Mounds and mounds of it. There is a load of whites in the dryer waiting for my hands and I fill the other with colors—blue jeans, the new pajamas my mother-in-law gifted me with, Jeffrey’s Christmas robe…in they go. I carry the basket of whites in the living room and am about to feel the weight of it all when she comes. I see her twirling through the French doors and I sit the basket down, lean into the glass and let her hypnotic dance fill me. My breath is lace and I feel the cold press through me.
The light of morning has not yet come to full and the boys still dream upstairs. There is nothing in her dance to alarm or awaken them. Yet I feel the stirring of these tiny bits of heaven’s light divagating in the dawn.
Christmas coming down.
Sunday morning the pastor reminded us that there are 12 days of Christmas…this season is not over until the magi discover the Christ on Epiphany Sunday.
This I tend to forget, or disregard in my desire to return to the norm. Things need to settle down, after all.
But my heart strains against leaving this season behind. The babe sleeps soft in the manger. On Christmas morning Jeffrey plucked the Christ child from his hiding place and now the core of our nativity is complete. The wise men still wander.
There is nothing ordinary about the falling snow—nothing every day-ish. Her crystalline flakes float in the wind, carry shimmer to earth. My cousin snow understands how to go about the business of life and carry beauty within.
Can I see Christmas this way? Can I carry it like a snow-dance all year long? Fall back into the rhythm of life with quiet beauty that falls over all it touches—embracing, covering, spreading Christmas over all?
I back away from the glass and return to the basket. This quiet—this time alone is usually my prayer time. I stare at scads of white and determine this: this laundry will be my prayer. These balls of socks are my prayer beads, each soft fold a line of grace. I touch the stuff of life with my heart and I know that this is Christmas. The snow-dance lifts me, spins my every-day around. We dip and sway back into life in a quiet rhythm of beauty.
And I hum my prayer as the snow continues to fall.
I share this snow-prayer in community with L.L. Barkat to celebrate On, In, and Around Mondays.

 On In Around button

Monday is gratitude day too (isn’t every day?). I join with Ann in a recognition of some (there are far too many to list) of this week’s blessings:
**Winter white
**The clothes we wear—such a gift to wrap this temple in these prayer lines
**Christmas dinner at home…welcoming the whole family here
**Boys who still wake early on Christmas morning—lumber in sleepy to mom and dad’s bed before first morning’s light
**Abundant, crazy love
**The Christ child in the manger 
**Wandering wise men
**The last candle lit on our Advent Wreath–the red one.
**Endless gifts. Oh, yes. Endless.


  1. says

    This is beautiful, Laura. You’re right; it’s not over. Thanks for the reminder. Enjoy the beauty of your snow. (I’ve got to go out and shovel mine again soon)

  2. says

    there is something abundantly peaceful about watching/listening to the snow fall, covering everything….may you find that peace but keep a bit of that christmas magic…

  3. says

    So often you write the words of my heart – the ones I cannot seem to find expression for.
    This is so beautiful Laura. I am being drawn to the quiet – longing for the peace and rest and listening and hearing the still small voice. I don’t want to let Christmas slip away with turn of the calendar page. I want it to linger.

  4. says

    Laura — You captured so beautifully what I think a lot of us are feeling. We know we need to keep going, to not let Christmas and the manger be the final word. But it’s hard. Hard to find peace during the crazy holiday season, and hard to keep peace as we get back to “reality.” I think Advent changed me this year, hopefully offering a new reality.

    I wrote from a similar place in my heart today, so I linked up to you. I think anyone reading my post will love yours even more.

    Thanks for Adventing with me, too!

  5. says

    Oh my, dear Laura…..I am sure you have heard this before, but what a GIFT the Lord has given you to be able to bring pictures, moods, and feelings to life with your words. I know we’re not suppose to covet…lol….but sure wish I had just a “smithering” of that gift. Looks like you and your family and your “cousin” had a wonderful Christmas 🙂

  6. says

    just precious. my boys also still rise early…and fall asleep late! they even insist on putting cookies out!!

    much to be thankful for!!

    loved the pics!!

  7. says

    Oh, how I love coming here! Your posts always touch my heart! THANK YOU for listening to HIS voice and writing what HE puts deep within your heart!
    Blessings, hugs, and prayers,

  8. says

    “I stare at scads of white and determine this: this laundry will be my prayer.”

    This is where I find myself today. Staring at the piles of “normal” that have been neglected all these days. Thank you for this reminder that the celebration isn’t over…and that even the most mundane parts of my day can be a prayer.

  9. says

    Your snow prayer is beautiful and lyrical and peace for me tonight, reading it belatedly, many days after the holiday. Thank you for this lovely Christmas gift, Laura.

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