Sacred Snowballs, Carrots, and a Friend

If you forgot already, a couple of weeks ago, it snowed a little bit. I must admit: it was nice. Four-day weekends are always welcome especially when they occur within a month of Spring Break. It was a Thursday and I worked late, because I was banking on a bad weather day, so I went ahead and prepared for the next week. When my daughter and I turned on to our street, we saw several of our neighbors playing in our front yard. We quickly parked on the street, jumped out of the car, and proceeded to launch snowballs at everybody. Sometimes, even in Texas, playing in the snow can be quite sacred.

I was born in Iowa but moved to Texas just before beginning Kindergarten. As a result, I don’t remember much about snow storm protocol. In Texas, when snow (or ice) falls from the sky, the first step in any system of response is to attempt to build a snowman. The day after the Great Snowstorm of 2010, my kids and I drove around our neighborhood counting 109 snowmen in a 3 mile radius around our house. Therefore, like good little Texans, we all pitched in, rolled snow, stacked snow, packed snow, and even found a couple carrots. The Snow Chef was our prize creation. (We got a little out of control on his head, and someone said it looked like he was wearing a chef’s hat.)

The next day, after a fresh night of snow, we were at it again: rolling in the snow, throwing snowballs at each other, and building stuff. I wanted to build a snowman that was taller than me, so I began working on said project on my neighbor’s front porch. (I was hoping it would inhibit their ability to enter and exit their house. That’s right, I’m the “ugly neighbor.”) After I got started, my own kids and a couple other kids in the neighborhood joined in. We pulled snow off of cars, out of the yard, and anywhere else we could find it to build this snow monster. Eventually, the top was wider and heavier than the bottom and it collapsed: poor design and management on behalf of the foreman. However, unbeknownst to me when the project began, crafting the snow monster led to an experience I never expected.

Matthew 10 (out of The Message) has really messed me (and Heidi) up lately. We initially read it in January during our first 40 days of Scripture reading and prayer; and now, after the first 7 of a new 40 days (Lent culminating in Easter), we’ve read it again. In short, Jesus sends his “harvest hands” out with quite a charge:

***”Don’t begin by traveling to some far-off place to convert unbelievers. And don’t try to be dramatic by tackling some public enemy. Go to the lost, confused people right here in the neighborhood. Tell them that the kingdom is here.”***

For me (and Heidi), it’s one of those sections of Scripture that causes the Bible to slip from my hands cascading to the floor as my head and hands leap toward the sky in repentance. I must continually ask myself: “How can I proclaim allegiance to the Liberating King and not know, spend time with, or tell my neighbors (with words and life) that the kingdom is here?”

So here I am attempting to construct a 75-inch tall snow monster...completely focused on packing snow into a wobbly foundation...and calling out to the kids to bring me more snow, when one of the kids in my neighborhood stops and looks up at me. With my eyes still on the emerging snow creation but the kids’ eyes dead-set on me, I hear, “Chris, you’re my best friend.” Cold, frustrated, tired, dumbfounded, and amazed, I responded, “Thanks.” The hour I had spent with this kid (and other kids from the neighborhood who were helping me) over the previous two days was the only time I had spent with the kids in my neighborhood so far in 2010.

***”Bring health to the sick. Raise the dead. Touch the untouchables. Kick out the demons. You have been treated generously, so live generously.”***

Sometimes, we don’t have to be sent to the other side of the globe. Sometimes, we only have to be home long enough to be sent across the street. Sometimes, we don’t have to be prepared to throw Bible verses. Sometimes, we only have to be prepared to throw snow balls. Indeed, we have been treated so generously. We have so much to live (and give).