Our first snow of the winter came on December 1st. For weeks, Ben, my nine year old, had been counting the days until December. This was not because he couldn’t wait until Christmas. He was excited about the snow season, and was absolutely convinced that it would begin on the first day of that month. Ben loves snow with the passion of the young and innocent who don’t have to shovel or drive in it. After forty-something years of living in the Midwest, I’ve become jaded. I view snow as a major inconvenience. To Ben, however, snowfall is a party of white confetti falling from this sky, sent by God for his sheer enjoyment.
I warned him that we may not get snow exactly on the first of December. It had been a warm fall. But, living in Chicagoland, we’d definitely get snow eventually. That I could guarantee. “Oh, Mom,” he sighed, and said in tone that implied he was mustering up all the patience he possibly could: “It’s going to snow on December 1st. I asked God to make it snow then.” He was so certain.
Wouldn’t you know? It snowed on the night of December 1st. We walked out of our church from a children’s choir rehearsal at 9pm and into the crisp, cold air. Big flakes fell down from the dark sky as my happy son danced in the parking lot. “It’s snowing! It’s snowing! I told you, Mom!”
I absolutely love when God does things like that! I believe with all my being that He answered the prayers of my little boy. It wasn’t a big snow, and it was mostly melted by the morning. But it snowed, none the less. God undoubtedly delighted in answering the prayer, and couldn’t wait to see Ben’s glee when he came outside from rehearsal, just as I can’t wait for my kids to open their gifts on Christmas morning.
I know and believe that God is good all the time. But watching Ben jump like a puppy through the falling snow, I also know that God is wildly generous and crazy fun. And He answers the prayers of a boy who wants snow.