She always seems to know. The water is done, the whistle is steamy, the shade is drawn, the sun is leaking through. Nothing escapes her wonder-grabbers.
Today we are far north in the Pennsylvania mountains. The valley has rain, but up here ... we have snow. It's the kind of day that begs you to crack the windows so all the smells of snow can seep in: the dusty pines, the cedar fires, the salty splashes. It's the kind of day where one cup of coffee turns into five and an article turns into a book. It's snowing hard and I can't wait to be in it.
With her southern knickers and newly acquired fleece she stands at the doorway, running in place. We are leaving for somewhere, this she knows. But never before has the world been white. Never before has the sky been white. Never before has white fallen in little bite-size Cheerios from the sky. Never before, until today.
To the porch, to the yard, I set her down in the snowy grass. She stands, and does not move.
Eyes wide and wonder-loaded she nods up and down; looking to the ground, then to the sky, then all around. Short bursts of laughter and an exuberant, "Mmm-Dada!" Like she is trying to tell me about the white.
Moments pass and she is lost in a world of jibber-jabber and laughs. The white is truly remarkable. She does not move. Minutes pass, and still she talks to the falling snow ... pushing her nose up into the air and giggling at the cold, wet flakes.
The Christ said "if any come to me as a child." The world says, "familiarity breeds contempt." We hurt those we love; we tire of their company and squint at their foibles. "If any ... as a child." Have we become so old?
For a time, she will see white in the sky and be wondered by it. For a time, I found wonder in the world. For a time, she will squeeze out my name in random joy and burst to tell me about the wonder of a first snow.
The agape is like that, squeezing out His name in random bursts of joy. It's the kind of love that stands in wonder-snow; the kind that comes, as a child.
