As I put away all the things of Christmas, and of the year past as well, I come across two little figures of a snowman and snowwoman, smiling, dressed in gay green and red scarves and little more. This is part of my own tradition, started when we first were married fourteen years ago; a matching ornament couple for every year–how could I not have trimmed the tree?
But the year had been a hard one, filled with loss and grief–but joy as well; for even as I lost two dearly loved ones, there were five more that came too close that I am grateful for escaping tragedy. Job and school and money worries now seem trivial; whatever happens is surely survivable, and if not, then faith alone is what carries one forth from there.
And while the winter is a cold and bitter time, the softly falling feathers make up a bed of snow that sparkles when I turn the back porch light on in the night, and the tracks of something that skittered across the patio in passing, do lead somewhere, don’t they, after all?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology