Whiter than the snow

I love the imagery of the Psalms. Often it was the only poetry that I actually got with regards to imagery. When I see a Shakespeare movie I always pray beforehand, "God, please open my ears and mind to make sense of what they are saying. I just don't get it most of the time, and I need your help." That's truth! So it's not terribly surprising that as a Florida girl, I've never really understood what David meant when he said, "...wash me, and I will be whiter than snow." A few weeks ago it came into focus as I looked at the 20 inches of snow we got.

Winters here are gloomy. The leaves are gone. The grass is brown. The flowers are non-existent. You might see a pop of color from a bird, but most have moved southward. Brown is the predominant color. People wear dark clothes, clouds are covering more often than not, and heads are down to the ground to keep the wind off faces. There is a perpetual longing in the air for change and a hope for new growth. All wait for spring to arrive and know that they must toil through about 3 months of dreariness to get to the end. And then, a sweet surprise comes when snow falls.

Snow has this ability to cover everything. In its quiet falling it blankets the ground, the trees, the roads, the homes, the dirt, the mud, the garbage, the pain, the hurt of this world. You look out into the yard and all you see is white. Where there was once a pile of crap you see a beautiful mound of happiness. Where there was once brown grass mile after mile of new running space exist without the hassles of old messes. The gleam from the sunlight makes everything sparkle like new. And the people feel the excitement. Like kids on Christmas, the doors crack open, the sleds come out, the parents make hot cocoa, and the joy begins.

As with us and our sin -- Isaiah shares, "Though your sins are like scarlet, they will be as white as snow..." It makes sense now -- all the mess is covered. It isn't seen any longer, it doesn't create a putrid stench, it doesn't create an eyesore for all of the neighbors to see, it no longer blocks your sight with the mountain you have to climb. Instead those stains are covered in a freshness that rejuvenates us while drawing us back to the foot of the cross and reminding us of our need of a Savior for we can't make the snow fall, nor can we make ourselves clean.

I wonder if that's where I've been sitting? Trying to make the snow fall.... and falling for a false joy?