The wind bites through my clothing, I can feel its sharp teeth pierce my skin. Drips of sweat quickly freeze and create icicles, stalactites of water, off of my face. Every stride crunches into a pile of snow, hopefully not hiding a patch of ice. My extremities are rebelling against the chill of the wind, while my mind wonders if I’m wearing enough clothes to prevent frostbite.

—

My shoes have taken on as much water as they can hold. Even when the soles of my shoes are not splashing in a puddle, inside each shoe my feet have their own personal puddle. Sweat mixes with rain and drips caustically into my eyes, burning them. I try to dry my eyes, but nothing on me is dry. My shirt and shorts awkwardly cling to me, leaving nothing about my body to the passerby’s imagination.

—

The lure and luxury of life is easily lost, like a threadbare blanket that once used to be soft and full. The spectacular has become mundane, the miracle of a hot, on demand, shower elicits no response. Clothes no longer feel soft and cozy, like new pajamas on Christmas Eve. Putting on a shirt no longer brings joy, and turns into a chore of mixing and matching. It is like a societal straight jacket, restricting freedom and personality. A house, dry, warm, full of stuff, easily becomes a jail that must ever be expanded and fixed, only to find out that we ourselves are its prisoners. How does one see this all for what it truly is? A glorious blessing to be enjoyed every single day.

—

I am in awe of the snow swirling all around me. The air is utterly crisp and quiet, the singular noise I hear is the crunch and squeak of snow underneath my feet. Lights beam out from houses and apartments as I run by, telling me of a place much cozier than where I currently am, telling me of a place that I will soon return to. At the end of my run, when I step through my front door, the blast of warmth slowly thaws my skin. The steam of a hot shower clears my lungs. Everywhere I look I find a new luxury I take for granted.

—

Rain is the one precipitation that most people hate or if not hate, mildly tolerate and yet, children are not born with a displeasure for rain. Water, like snow, magically falls from the sky. Refractions of light create sparkles, or rainbows. Rain brings life, refreshment and coolness from heat. What we forget about the rain, but children remember, is that wet things can be made dry. Once my day’s miles are complete, I put on one of the many dry clothes I own. I look out of my window and watch the rain continue its voyage to the ground. I can choose to be dry or wet, just like I can choose to see and be thankful for all the luxuries I have, but hardly deserve.

—

“Everything good comes from God. Every perfect gift is from him. These good gifts come down from the Father who made all the lights in the sky. But God never changes like the shadows from those lights.”

— James 1:17