When it Snows: A Short Story (fiction)

The depth before me smothered the desire to be social. All the white, saturated with condensation, crystallized to assume the guise of goodness.

Why do people like snow?

Immediately chilled, I headed to retrieve the warmest hat in the basket. Wind gusted from afar, sweeping snowflakes here and there, knocking me to my knees.

There must be ice underneath, hidden to those assuming a firm foundation. I reached through the pile but my arm’s length was insufficient. Much like my life. Words ineffective at drawing others close. So, alone, so incredibly alone.

My glasses steamed the minute I stepped into the foyer. The contrast between frozen and warm, deception and truth … begged my heart to pray.

Who needs a God who doesn’t do what you ask, what you so desperately need?

Wooly and itchy.. the hat crowned my shaved head.

The gloves were already wet. With ease, I slipped them off my slender fingers. Mittens? Childlike yet more than sufficient. Bulky, almost hindering so, but a blanket bundled around my weary hands.

Now where’s the shovel? Stepping back into the January atmosphere, I drug my feet toward the shed. It’s too much. This life is too much.

As I sunk into self-pity, I noticed the distinct absence of chipper bird calls. No zooming cars either, determined to beat the stark reality of time. I paused, inhaled. The frigid air pained my labored lungs. If I am strong enough to shovel, then I should be able to talk to people.

I stood still in the silence. Suddenly, a snow squall queried.

Why now? I was having a moment. Too late, now it’s gone. Like gone with the wind. An actual chuckle bubbled up from somewhere in my undergarments. A rather loud sound from little ole me almost echoed in this nothingness.

Scooping small amounts of wintry mix on my shovel, I remembered to bend at the knees. No need to strain my back, already pained from the chemo port.

I gave up after clearing one sidewalk square. It was too windy, and the plain truth was I was too weak. A salty tear squeezed out my left eye, as if it was escaping the rest.

“Uh, ma’am. May I borrow your shovel?”

Oh, so you can show off? My mind snapped, though I said nothing.

“Excuse me, ma’am, thought I could just shovel your walk and small drive way there.”

This man was short, dressed not for cold. Rather dapper in his choice of brown leather top hat to match his plaid jacket. Fall, maybe, but after a snow storm?

I was curious – but not enough to trust him. “What, you want paid? Well I am fine, just taking my time. Don’t have any cash on hand anyway.”

Somehow he stood now with the shovel. Humming Amazing Grace, he cleared my sidewalk in what seemed like three minutes.

“Sir, why are you helping me?”

“Because we are put here to help each other. Living only for myself would be boring, not to mention God. I would be far from Him, and that is not my prayer for anyone, you know?”

His eyes were big beneath the brim of his cap. His skin a golden brown, the color of beach beauties. But his smile is what mesmerized me. Wide across his tanned cheeks. It seemed as if he always smiled. For as he talked he smiled, as he hummed he showed his teeth, white like the snow. There was something different about him. Who does that? Saunters up to some young sick woman who cannot shovel even though she wants to … yes, where did he come from?

As I pondered, I rubbed my mittens together.

“Seems like frostbite is coming soon. Time to get this sick body warm again. I did want to thank …”

I couldn’t finish my sentence because nobody was there. The man and his good tidings were gone. The sidewalk and the driveway, clear. The shovel stood upright in the near the mailbox.

Without words, as the Light of life and mercy broke through the coldest part of my heart, I thanked God for reminding me I am never alone.

~~~

Thank you for joining me here as I mused in fiction today. All based upon His truth that He sends angels to minister to us. Read Hebrews 1:14 to learn/be reminded that even now there are His angels on earth doing His bidding.

All photos are from Pixabay.com.

If you need prayer, don’t ever hesitate to ask someone you trust. If it is me, email me at juliedibblespeaks@gmail.com.

Love in Christ,

Julie