Winter must have taken one of those middle of the summer, how many miles of the interstate are under construction and how far out of the way is this detour? detours to get to us the last few months. Nonetheless she has finally hit her mark. We awoke to snow, more than a dusting, on Sunday and I found myself driving through tiny drifts for the first time this year on the way to church. Winter is no stranger to me and I have lived through many fierce and many mild ones throughout the years. I have awesome respect and a healthy fear of the power winter wields over our environment. Yet, while driving through those tiny drifts I experienced little waves of pleasure as my tires broke through the puffs of snow. I found myself thinking "This is all you've got, bring it. I can break these and bigger ones."
This was soon followed by contemplation of my winter bravado. How I could attack a snow drift with my car like it was nothing. Like I had somehow forgotten that sometimes when you drive into a snowdrift on the road it's magnitude can take control of your car away. Like I forgot that sometimes underneath those drifts of snow are menacingly slick patches of ice. Why didn't I blink an eye? Yet some days the grief I carry for my sons has brought my life to a standstill over going to the grocery store or taking my daughters to gymnastics. Where was the bravado then? Why couldn't I say "bring it, I can do this and more" those times?
I didn't have an answer to any of my questions. Just observations on how sometimes a molehill can seem like the tallest mountain and sometimes the tallest mountain can be looming within reach and seem like the smallest of anthills.