The other day I was sitting in Sunday School, and the teacher mentioned that she was startled to hear her mother give thanks for the snow in winter.
It was easy to understand her surprise. Snow isn't something you'd expect Alaskans to pray for. Usually they just want a decent couple of inches to insulate pipes and protect them from the hard cold, and then they're pretty uninterested in the white stuff until it's time to go skiing. In a state that can see up to 300 inches of snow in some towns (looking at you, Valdez) and 600-900 inches in some mountain passes, snow isn't exactly something you think about being grateful for--it's just something that is and must be endured, like a runny nose or slow drivers in the passing lane.
The value of snow, however, isn't in its insulating abilities. Its worth isn't found in its simple, pristine beauty or in its facilitation of snow-sports.
Its value is found in its light.
Starting in October, the days start getting shorter and darker. By mid-December, the sun doesn't climb so much as skate over the horizon, and central Alaska sees about four hours of daylight. The further north you go, the darker it gets. The darkness should be heavy, nearly a tangible weight...but it isn't, because of the snow. The moon, the streetlights, even the aurora--any source of light is reflected and amplified. When it's cloudy, it's even brighter because the clouds reflect the light as well. Don't believe me?
Look.
These pictures were taken away from streetlights, with my headlights turned off. I went looking for darkness and could still see well enough to read even hours after sunset. Snow, the cold, white nuisance that coats the ground from October to April most years, illuminates the long winter dark.
Sometimes the things we must endure are not just there to be endured; sometimes they help us in ways we never know or appreciate until we glance behind us. Stop merely enduring. Look for the unseen benefits to the trials around you. You never know what will provide a little light in the darkness.
The value of snow, however, isn't in its insulating abilities. Its worth isn't found in its simple, pristine beauty or in its facilitation of snow-sports.
Its value is found in its light.
Starting in October, the days start getting shorter and darker. By mid-December, the sun doesn't climb so much as skate over the horizon, and central Alaska sees about four hours of daylight. The further north you go, the darker it gets. The darkness should be heavy, nearly a tangible weight...but it isn't, because of the snow. The moon, the streetlights, even the aurora--any source of light is reflected and amplified. When it's cloudy, it's even brighter because the clouds reflect the light as well. Don't believe me?
Look.
These pictures were taken away from streetlights, with my headlights turned off. I went looking for darkness and could still see well enough to read even hours after sunset. Snow, the cold, white nuisance that coats the ground from October to April most years, illuminates the long winter dark.
Sometimes the things we must endure are not just there to be endured; sometimes they help us in ways we never know or appreciate until we glance behind us. Stop merely enduring. Look for the unseen benefits to the trials around you. You never know what will provide a little light in the darkness.
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