Around here, we don’t get big snows very often. It snows every winter…usually…but an inch or two at a time is about as much as we can expect, and it doesn’t generally hang around for very long when it comes.
And given some of the imperfections in our yard, I’m especially thankful for that. Like the landscaping stones in front of the house that aren’t level and never stay stacked the way they’re supposed to. Right now they’re covered in snow, so what does it matter? Nobody can see them anyway.
And there’s the unsightly ring in our back yard where the former owners of our home had a pool they weren’t kind enough to leave behind for us. It’s there, but if you come over, you won’t be able to see it.
And my boys tried to dig their way to China last fall…no kidding…right in the middle of the back yard. We never filled in the hole and it isn’t pretty. But you can come look for it now if you want. Believe me, you’re won’t be able to find it.
Those imperfections are hidden. The blemishes are covered. The evidences of past misdeeds are forgotten.
And of course the glistening white brings to mind this scripture:
Is there anything purer white than fresh snow? And yet even the darkest of sins can be covered in white. Forgotten. Buried in a blanket of grace so deep as to hide the worst of imperfections from the eyes of a holy God.
Not because of anything I have done, of course. Because I can’t do anything to earn that kind of favor. The ugliness of sin is there. Faults and failings and imperfections are ever-present with me, and even in my absolute best state I will never escape them.
What the apostle Paul said of himself, I, too, can say.
The sin. The shortcomings. The failures. The inadequacies. His grace covers it all. It is cloaked in a blanket of white — His righteousness, placed on my account, because of faith in what He has done for me.
And what a beautiful, remarkable thing that is.