Avalanche.

I haven't blogged in a while. Let me paint you a picture.

It's snowing. White and fluffy and heavy but light. Each individual, intrinsic flake weighs nothing in the palm of your hand. Nothing on the frozen solid ground, on the cement driveway you're determined to uncover. As you work, they fall. One at a time, yet thousands at once.

If you pause for even a moment, the path you just created is already disappearing.

But you don't stop and retrace your steps. You keep going. Because if you pause, if you go back, the layers in front of you will only increase. Flake after flake will fall. Weightless alone, heavy together. If you wait too long, it piles too high. The weight is more than your feeble arms and plastic shovel can bear.

Imagine a mountainside with mounds of snow rather than your driveway. The snow just does not stop. There exists no one with the duty of clearing the flakes away.

Eventually... avalanche.

Usually I find myself standing below the avalanche, knowing at any moment I might be buried in snow.

In the moment that I'm buried, all I can do is call on Jesus and we dig out of the white pile together. Only together can I survive.

Do you have the image in your head? Have you connected the dots?

This is December for me. Every year. Each snowflake representing a different situation, worry, conflict, stress in my life. I underestimate the weight of each flake, letting its seeming weightlessness trick me. I ignore the flake.

But flakes don't come alone. One at a time, yet thousands at once.

Ignore them for a moment... avalanche. And I stand directly below it, waiting, almost asking, to be buried.

As December approaches, I'm bracing for the white pile. I'm expecting it. But maybe this year I'll be standing at the peak of the mountain. Maybe I'll hop on a snowboard and ride the avalanche to the foot of the hill. And instead of trying to prepare myself, I'll just trust in Jesus and do what I can to survive and enjoy the ride.