The school bus came to a stop on a steep hill, stuck in the ice and snowstorm that had swept through that day. The wind howled, and snow swirled so thickly it was nearly impossible to see. The bus was stranded about a mile from my house, perched atop the big hill. With no other option, I began the long, cold trek home. Every step felt like a mile, and the bitter cold stung my face so badly I couldn’t even open my mouth to complain about how numb my hands and feet were! I was in seventh grade, woefully underdressed for such an adventure, but I was determined to make it home.
By the time I saw the front door, I was nearly in tears—home had never looked so inviting. But what I remember most vividly, as though it happened yesterday, was the moment Mom opened the door. She was waiting with warm towels, cozy clothes, and a pot of beef stew simmering on the stove. The house smelled amazing, and there was a bowl of stew ready for me by the fireplace. That first bite was heaven. I felt safe, warm, and deeply loved, surrounded by the smell and warmth of home.
Every time it snows, my heart goes back to that moment. It’s why, to this day, snowstorms call for soup, and that feeling of warmth and safety fills the air.
This morning, the sun was hitting the snow just right, casting sparkles across the yard as if it had been dusted with glitter and sunshine. I opened
the door to take it all in. It was so quiet—the usual hum of cars rushing by was replaced with peaceful stillness. The snowy blanket seemed to quiet the world, and standing there, I was struck by the beauty of the snow and the memory of my mom.
I thought of the many drives we shared to and from her chemotherapy appointments. She loved the Gaithers and the hymns she’d sung in her younger years. One snowy day during those trips, when she was growing frail toward the end of her cancer journey, she began singing Jesus Paid It All. Her sweet, soft voice carried every verse, and as she finished, her arms lifted in praise despite her weakness. She looked over at me with a gentle smile and said, “He’s paid it all, Lisa… it’s all going to be okay.”
I needed those words more than I realized. At that moment, it didn’t feel okay, but her faith brought a peace that made me feel like I was home again, resting in grace for the final steps of her journey.
This morning, as I looked at the snow, the memory of her singing filled my mind. I found myself softly humming that hymn, imagining she might be singing with me from heaven:
“I hear the Savior say,
Thy strength indeed is small;
Child of weakness, watch and pray,
Find in Me thine all in all.”
Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain,
He washed it white as snow.
If I could sit on the swing with Mom today, looking at this snow, I know what she’d say. She’d remind me of how snow mirrors God’s grace: how the pure white covering the ground is a reflection of sins forgiven (John 1:7), how the abundance of snow banks reminds us of His overflowing grace (John 1:16), and how its spotless beauty reflects the cleansing power of Jesus (1 Corinthians 6:11).
Snow reminded me of grace today in so many ways. No matter where life takes me, no matter what path God leads me on, as long as He is with me, I am home. Home is where grace abounds, where it’s always safe and warm. And what a beautiful place to land.
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