Before Thanksgiving, my boyfriend and I were on our way home from church when it began to freezing rain. The meteorologist had predicted snow, and I was praying with all the faith in me that by the time we exited the 5 there would be fat white flakes in the air. It didn’t happen, but within two hours I looked out my window while eating leftovers and was mesmerized by a winter waltz of snow, cascading down from a feathery gray sky. I felt special, like it was just because of my prayer that God let it snow.
It’s now January 4. There are 13 inches of snow outside my back door – and on the roads – and more in the air. It’s keeping me from embarking on a very necessary return trip to school. The roads through the Gorge are a sheet of ice, with chains required. I’m the stereotypical girl in the fact that I have never put chains on my car’s tires, nor have I driven any automobile with them on. I have, however, piloted my car in snow and ice before. I’ll be honest with you, I love it. It’s dangerous, and I appreciate that. It’s one of those things that absolutely forces you out of control at times. There has been one occurence where a patch of black ice got the best of me. A former significant other and I slid out of control on an overpass and damaged his father’s truck. Nothing too extreme, just some scrapes and dents.
Now the snow has taken me out of control again. There is an unbelievable amount around here and I’m going stir crazy waiting for it to leave. I’m getting antsy – I’m ready to be back under my own jurisdiction – my own house rules. Where it’s a given that I have to do all the dishes, instead of being yelled at to do them. I want to be back in control.
I’m not supposed to be in control – according to my religious belief system. And it was silly, I suppose, to think that I could have brought that pre-Thanksgiving snow simply by tossing up a prayer. Just a reminder that God is a lot bigger than I am – or ever will be. And I suppose it’s a good thing He’s in control and I’m not.