Great Outdoors
It was hard not to think of snow days as I read James Spann’s latest update that morning. Snow blanketed much of North Alabama. Everything from Montgomery to Birmingham was covered in ice or sleet and as is so often the case, down in South Alabama, we were cold and wet. The house was cool, though the heater worked overtime to combat the draft of our 100-year-old windows. I glanced at the thermometer hanging just outside the kitchen window and it read 26 degrees. The skies were grey in the dusk of the morning, and I understood from James that the sun would not be joining us any time soon.
Banks, our 15-year-old, descended the stairs in the still twilight of the morning. I was amused, and even a bit befuddled as to why she was up so early. She didn’t say anything. She seemed to feel her way across the living room, eyes squinted, and with fingers slightly extended, she stepped gingerly to avoid the agony of a stubbed toe. I sat silently by the fire. It radiated warmth. I had even scooted my chair a bit closer. The steam from my cup of coffee wafted at my nose as I held the cup close to my lips. I tracked Banks with my eyes and slowly, methodically, she made her way across the room and grunted. I laughed silently as I knew she intended for me to put my coffee cup down. I did not hesitate. Climbing into my lap, I snuggled her close and wrapped her in the blanket that was once draped over the back of my chair. She sat motionless as she nestled her chin into my collarbone, and all seemed well in the moment’s silence.
Slowly, she drifted back to sleep. And as she did, my thoughts drifted back to snow days of old. I recalled 1987 when temperatures plummeted so low that Mobile Bay iced up around its edges. I recalled 1993 and our co-ed efforts to use cafeteria trays as rudimentary sleds at the University of Montevallo. I reminisced about 2003 when we built snowmen with the two older girls and then snow angels and snow tubing just a few years later after Banks was born. Amid all those memories, I longed for snow that morning- wishing for something more than what I had. I strolled a bit more down memory lane before Banks shifted a little in my lap, raised her head, grunted, as only a teenager can do, climbed up out of the chair, and went back to her room. And just like that, the moment was over. I spent some of that “moment” wishing for something more. I was reminded of my grandfather’s sage advice, warning me not to live life with a mind toward yesterday. He was right, for the present is much more valuable. In that present, I realized the value more than most, for I realized just how precious it was to have my “most of the time I don’t like you, Dad” 15-year-old teenager climb in my lap and go to sleep.
Exodus 20:17 reminds us not to covet those things we do not have. Simple enough, it is to guard against coveting your neighbors’ house, boat, or hunting land. But it is much more difficult to not covet time. That morning in my wandering mind, I coveted snow days of old, with a longing for one more day, so that I might make one last snowman while all my girls were home for Christmas break. In my coveting of that day gone by, I simply failed to appreciate what was. And now, I must guard against coveting one more moment when my 15-year-old climbs into my lap.
-Walt Merrell
A Christian Outdoorsman who writes of his adventures with his family, with the hope that others might be inspired and encouraged to embrace God’s tapestry, otherwise known as the great outdoors, as a means of finding Common Ground. You can follow him at Shepherding Outdoors on FB, YT and IG and at shepherdingoutdoors.com. His most recent book is available at shepherdingbook.com. Read his faith story at www.BirminghamChristian.com.
