an individual snowflake dreaming of avalanches

I'm finally sitting down, tissue box in hand, hot coffee within reach, and kids out with Daddy for some quality play time.  The desire to write is strong and present - the thoughts, clarity of mind and direction, not so much.  But the only way to actually write is to begin, so here we go.

It snowed here last night - the first accumulation of the winter.  It's slushy now, muddied by the addition of salt and freezing rain, city pollution and foot traffic.  But it is beautiful in its advent.  And no matter how much we got last winter, or how cold it makes my toes or my bones, it still brings joy to my soul, and reminds me, in its own special way, of God's love and promises to me.

Each little flake, so remarkably unique - so delicate and fragile - and so unimpressive outside of its collaboration with other little flakes.  And yet together, they literally form and move mountains.  They change the landscape of the city, they grind the hustle and bustle to a halt, and they provide endless hours of delight and entertainment for rosy cheeked babes and adults alike.

I feel like an individual snowflake most days.
An individual snowflake that dreams of avalanches.

I am one of those people who said that their career goal was to change the world - to make it a better place.  I long, in the core of my being, to be part of something bigger.  I picked a career (and then an alternative career) (and dream of another career) based on what impact it could have, rather than how much money it would make.  I get excited by big vision, I love big stories, I am always the hero in my dreams.

And yet, these days, I'm a stay-at-home mom to two littles, and my days are primarily made up of wiping things (noses, faces, bums, floors...), maintaining order (discipline, schedules, flat out wrangling at times...), teaching them how to be the kind of humans that don't cough on others, figuratively or literally, plus lots of snuggles and some cute moments thrown in there too.  Also, tempers and poop.  But by and large, it feels entirely mundane.  Small.  Feed, wash, cry, rest, repeat.

Yes, I know.  I * know * that it's not small.  That it's one of the most important jobs out there, that it matters, yada yada.  I know this, you know this, we all know this.  But the glory of it is often lost in the goop of it all, and the grandeur is neat to wax poetic about, but often tough to cling to when you're in the trenches full-time - and the bigger picture often feels as hard to grasp as it is for a single snowflake to imagine creating an avalanche.

I wonder if sometimes we make it harder for those in the trenches, when we remind them (us) again of how glorious and sweet, treasured and important it is or should be.

I was lamenting this with my husband the other evening, and he, in his wisdom and irony, quoth, "well, I bet Mother Teresa did a lot of wiping goop too..."

I bet Mother Teresa did a lot of wiping goop too.

Yeah.  I bet she did.  And come to think of it, so did Jesus.

Yet, we often only focus on the big picture titles of lives - Savior and Saint - rather than seeing the daily details that made Mother Teresa the compassionate servant of the poor that she was, or Jesus the humble healer and teacher (and Messiah) of fishermen and shepherds that he was.

What if, instead of seeking to paint motherhood - or really, ministry of any form - as a grandiose treasury of precious moments - what if instead we began to understand that the bigger picture, that real world change, real change in general, happens in tiny, practical, often repetitive, and entirely mundane steps.  Each one melting into the previous and the next, but done in faithful, consistent, obedience, together with one another, they begin to change the landscape.

The stories of change are beautiful and inspiring, and we do need them, especially to remind of us of hope and the bigger picture - that change is possible.  That Love and Good wins. That Jesus is on the move.  That He is Messiah, and offers real hope.  And that we are part of a much bigger story.

But we also need to be reminded that our stories are not made up solely of world-changer bi-lines and testimonies.  That faithful, consistent love and obedience, these are the snowflakes that cause the avalanche, that every so often we get to glimpse and witness.  These snowflakes, they are not glorious, or precious, or even beautiful at times - a temper held, forgiveness given, a lesson taught again, a hand extended, a child fed food that they throw back on you, more goop compassionately wiped - but they are holy pieces of the larger picture.

Faithful, consistent, obedient, repetitive actions.
Tiny, fleeting, melting snowflakes.
A holy avalanche which covers the land.
May we see it.
Or if we may not.

It is thus.