Watching The Rockies = Freaking Out

And I don’t even care about baseball. I don’t even like baseball! But come ON man! Are you TRYING to walk him?

It’s been an up and down week. I’m getting turned down for jobs right and left it feels. On Thursday I drove to work in the snow, 25 minutes east where the weather gets worse at every major intersection sometimes. I couldn’t see much on the drive down Lincoln, through the open space between I25 and Stonegate TWP. The wind was blowing across the open space, the cows were hiding, the cars either hugging too close to one another or too far to see much except hazy outlines and brake lights. I drove behind a Ford pickup–a 350 to be exact. Burgundy. Chunky, like a child’s toy. In some ways, I thought driving behind a pickup would be awesome. Not only because I could lust over my dream car (not specifically a Ford 350, but a pickup). Also, I thought it would block some of the wind, keep the snow away and give me some more visibility.


Did you know that driving behind a truck is akin to driving in a wind tunnel and thereby creating your own personal blizzard for a unique driving experience? Well, it was on Thursday.

I picked up Salem at a friend’s house down the street. We walked home in the softly falling snow. Or rather, I walked home carrying Salem because the snow was flying into her eyes and I couldn’t explain to a three year old how to keep your head down but still look up to see were you’re going. But it was fun, she played with my hair, giggling: “You have snow in your hair Sara! It’s all white! Can I eat it?”

I bundled her up better and we went out on the back porch. I stood on the deck, because I made a bad decision concerning shoes and didn’t feel like falling my way to the grass  below an extra long flight of slippery stairs. Denali came out with us, the goofy dog practically sprinted to the grass that was covered in snow like a thin layer of powder sugar. She rolled around, barked and circled Salem who didn’t even notice. I stood on the deck, feeling silly for the shoes I wore and talked to Salem as she wandered aimlessly through the snowy yard. The world was quiet, the way it always is when Colorado gets snow. The back road behind the house was nearly empty, a lone SUV made the trek homewards through the neighborhood, rushing towards warmth at its destination.

I couldn’t help thinking that I feel as slow as the world was on Thursday. No job, hardly any social life, not much purpose. Just me, and Jesus, and the oddly comforting snow. But as I watched Salem on the ground below me, eating snow from the grass with her floppy mittens, licking it from the edge of the fire pit, kicking it in the dirt, scooping it up off the picnic table with me to throw at Denali–it didn’t seem to matter. All the nothing-ness melted away. She giggled a lot, her pink little nose wrinkled every time it touched the snow as she tried to shove more of it in her mouth. I picked her up and spun her around, let her feed me some of her freshly picked snowflakes, danced. We listened to the snow as it fell and flakes landed on our hair as quiet as whispers on Christmas Eve. And finally, with my fingers stiff and frozen, I convinced Salem to go inside.

But I was almost as sorry to go as her. Because in the quiet stillness of Thursday evening in the snowy air, I felt oddly at peace. Salem loves me, not becuase I wear great clothes, drive a an awesome car, have a high salary or some other ridiculous thing. She loves me because I eat snow with her and curl up with her to read books by the fire; because I’m someone to hug and be loved by. It’s kind of like God. I don’t really have to do much to be loved–I don’t actually have to do anything. Just be.

So: here’s to three year olds teaching me sunday school lessons I should have learned a long time ago. :]


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