"Grace in the First Flurries" - 11/06/25

This morning brought an unexpected kindness. One of our church friends stopped by the parsonage, thoughtfully delivering a snow blower as we prepare for the weekend’s first snow. His simple act of care warmed my heart and reminded me that a new season is near. With flurries soon to come and the earth readying itself for winter’s quiet, I found myself reflecting on the gentle grace that arrives with the first snow—and the ways God’s love, like those first flakes, covers and renews all things.



Scripture
“Come now, let us reason together,” says the Lord. “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.” — Isaiah 1:18 (NIV)


Reflection
The first whisper of snow carries a sacred stillness. Long before the ground turns white, there is a pause in the air, a hush that invites both earth and soul to breathe more slowly. Something in that waiting feels holy. The world begins to quiet itself, and we sense that grace is drawing near.

This morning, a quiet kindness arrived at the parsonage. A friend, thinking ahead to the snow that will soon fall, brought a snow blower to help our family prepare. His simple act of care felt like a warm light in the chill of early winter. Such gestures remind us that grace often appears in small and ordinary moments. Love takes shape in service, and through these humble offerings, God’s presence becomes visible among us.

In Scripture, snow is a sign of cleansing and renewal. When Isaiah speaks of sins becoming “white as snow,” he describes a mercy that transforms rather than erases. Snow does not remove what lies beneath; it covers and softens it. The rough ground, the fallen leaves, and the marks of yesterday’s footsteps are all held in a quiet beauty. Beneath that blanket, the earth rests and gathers strength for what will come. So too does the soul find rest beneath the covering of divine compassion.

The first flurries often surprise us. They drift from the sky like blessings that arrive without announcement. Each flake carries a message that grace is already at work, preparing us for what we cannot yet see. The snow blower resting by the porch becomes more than a tool. It is a sign of readiness shaped by kindness. Through the care of another, we are reminded that God’s love provides before we even ask.

The letter for snow in Korean, 눈 (nun), is also used to refer to eye. Perhaps this connection teaches us something about seeing. When snow falls, it changes the way we look at the world. The familiar becomes radiant. The ordinary becomes something to behold with wonder. Grace has the same power. It helps us see with softened eyes, noticing beauty where once we saw only what was plain or difficult.

Winter will soon arrive in full. The air will sharpen, the days will shorten, and we will draw near to warmth and light. Yet even beneath the frost, life is not gone. It only rests, waiting for the time to rise again. Within this rhythm lies a quiet hope. The God who sends the snow is also the God of spring. Between the stillness and the awakening, we are held in the gentle promise that all things are being made new.


Prayer
God of changing seasons,
we give thanks for the quiet mercies that prepare us for what is to come…
for friends who show love through simple acts,
for the beauty of snow that covers the earth in peace,
and for Your grace that renews us beyond our deserving.
Teach us to see with softened eyes,
to receive Your love as freshly as the first snowfall,
and to rest in the promise that all things, in You,
are being made new.
Amen.