Around noon yesterday, I got an unusual call from my mom in Houston. "It's snowing and sticking to the ground!" she reported with delight. This was big news since it only snowed two times in the thirty years I lived in Houston (and supposedly only three times in the past fifteen years). She went on to say, "I'm looking out the window at the exact spot where you experienced snow for the first time." She retold how excited I was to go out and play in the snow until it "burned" my three-year-old face, scaring me to tears (notice I'm not holding a speck of snow).
On the other end of the line, I was trying to comprehend how--fifty years later--my parents could remember such a minute detail and how lovely and rare it is that they still live in the same home where every childhood milestone took place. What I couldn't mention (yet) was that just this week I found the very picture that documents what is only a shadow in my own memory. [My sisters and I have been gathering scores of pictures that record the sweet memories we have of HER, compiled in a DVD to be shared on her 80th birthday this month.] I was thinking how coincidental this serendipitous moment was, then I recognized that it's just a fleeting glimpse of how the heavenly Father has "taken account of my wanderings; put my tears in His bottle, and written them in His book of remembrance." (Psalm 56:8)
1 comment:
I love how God works together things like that! I'm not just a little jealous of the snow they got way down south, though! :-)
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