Snow and Dust

 

The other day as I was walking my boys to school, I noticed something about the snow in our neighbor’s yard: it sparkled. I hadn’t remembered seeing snow like this since my years living in

Northwest Minnesota. I vividly remember being awestruck by newly fallen snow that far north. I’d drive down the road and be glad to be alive, fortunate to take in the white splendor of it all.

I fear that any appreciation of a winter wonderland will sound like nonsense to many by mid February. My friends in New England have every right to say, “bah humbug” (and that’s putting it politely). Tonight I could sympathize. During the hour prior to our Ash Wednesday service, a storm blew across our valley that caught many by surprise. The person who two weeks ago gave a lovely temple talk about what the Ash Wednesday liturgy means to her was forced to turn back on her journey to church. So much for snowy beauty on this night.

But here it is, isn’t it? The truth of Ash Wednesday? “Wash me, and I shall be purer than snow” is uttered in the same service as “Remember, that you are dust.” Dirty dust. Old dust like the kind I scrubbed today from the bathroom at the restaurant where I work. New snow like the sparkles I caught a glimpse of yesterday. We are both.

Snow looks lovely at first. Then the plows come, the salt trucks spread, the cars exhaust, and the mud melts. You have this:

And what about us? We are beautiful, beloved creations. The dust is called good, after all. But we fail, hurt, despair, and hate. I think of my three-year old daughter who was simply angelic during the Ash Wednesday service. She quietly held the hand of a caring church member during the imposition of ashes, stood attentively in the communion circle. Then we got home and all hell broke loose. How dare we choose the flower underwear; she wanted Dora. The heart pajamas! She wanted flowers. Childhood innocence mixed with defiance unsurpassed.

I still cherish the new-fallen snow just as I cherish so many unearned gifts each day. But I am grateful for days like this that speak the truth about ourselves: saint and sinner, purer then snow and plain as dust.