What the Snow is Protecting

As I look out over the snow that fell and stopped much of our world a week-and-a-half ago, I see a barren wilderness. In the bitter cold that still lingers it is hard to picture that there is life out there, under the snow. And yet, I know, there lies, beneath, a potential explosion of life and color and joy. 

Last fall, we held a wedding reception for our oldest daughter here at our home. Later, flowers from the event were deadheaded and dropped into the garden area to lie dormant over the winter, in the hope that they would re-seed in the spring. In the past, this task would normally amount to us watching and waiting and hoping for the seeds to take hold and grow. But now we have discovered a secret weapon in the form of a smart phone app that can show us what the different seeds can bloom into.  

Snap a picture of the plant and the app tells you exactly what it is. One leaf is enough for this app to tell you if you have a dandelion or a primrose. It will not be hard to know when we have a growing plant in the garden that we want to KEEP and PROTECT. Weeds will quickly be identified and removed, leaving the ground open for the growth of all of the beautiful memories of the fall party to bloom again. 

This is a vital analogy for our lives and relationships, too. In every aspect of life we must first NOTICE that there is something to behold. Something  beneath the surface. Something beyond what we can immediately see. In the seeds we scattered in our garden last autumn, knowing that there are seeds waiting to grow, we are already eager to rush outside to see if there is a leaf big enough for the plant app to name.

Then, we can IDENTIFY the plant and acknowledge its potential and its value. Maybe we will even make exciting nameplates for this next generation of blooms. And, of course, there is the CULTIVATION project of watering, protecting, weeding, feeding, and enjoying the blossoms that appear. Especially as the temperature bottoms out again tonight into the single digits, like so many other nights this especially frigid winter, I’ll be needing to remind myself of the fact that the harshness of the snow is actually protection for those seeds that lie beneath. The air is far colder than the snow, and the seeds will safely wait it out in relative warmth until it is their time to appear. 

I feel that this analogy speaks to the core of who we are as human beings as well–the joy there is in being able to IDENTIFY potential in something or someone! So, what would it be like to be able to see and hear the possibilities in someone and then connect with them to encourage, cultivate, and nurture them? What a blessing to have someone recognize your capacity even when you are in the infant stages of growth! What a relief and gift to be placed in the warmth of safety and care! 

When you feel like the seeds waiting to grow… reach out to someone you trust or to us at Someone To Tell It To. We promise you that we will see you for the treasure that you are - and we will affirm the treasures within you.

When you feel as if you are struggling to find joy and needing to see something grow… reach out to someone you trust or to us at Someone To Tell It To. We will accompany you while you figure out what is next. 

When you feel like the smart phone app, able to see people and the best of who they are… consider doing some deeper listening of your own, connecting more deeply with others and valuing the treasures they are! We have a training program that will help you to develop and deepen your skills! There are people who need your listening care! This will always be true.

Sometimes we are the seeds, quiet, unseen, waiting beneath a surface that looks cold and lifeless. Other times, we are the snow itself, unknowingly offering protection, creating just enough shelter for something fragile to survive until its moment arrives.

There is a particular kind of grace in learning to recognize life before it is obvious. To notice potential when it is still small. To stay close during seasons when nothing appears to be happening at all. Growth does not announce itself right away. Often, it waits for warmth, for safety, for someone patient enough to believe it is there.

Perhaps this is the invitation to look more gently at ourselves, and more carefully at one another. To trust that what seems dormant may simply be resting. To remember that beneath the hardest winters, life is already preparing its return.

And when the snow finally melts, and color breaks through the soil, we may realize that what we thought was barren was never empty at all. It was only waiting.

Photo by Andres Siimon on Unsplash