On Snowflakes

"Under the microscope, I found that snowflakes were miracles of beauty; and it seemed a shame that this beauty should not be seen and appreciated by others. Every crystal was a masterpiece of design and no one design was ever repeated. When a snowflake melted, that design was forever lost. Just that much beauty was gone, without leaving any record behind." Wilson Bentley, Photographer, 1925.

I have loved snowflakes ever since growing up in Michigan where for several months of the year they whirl and swirl, dancing to the wind, sometimes floating up before making it to the ground, their descent hindered by the currents of the air they grace. For each kind of storm, a different kind of flake. Dainty, dreamy, delicately drifting, taking its time. Fluffy and weightless. Heavy and wet, more like clumps than individual flakes. Granular and icy, dry and powdery. The "whitening shower" as James Thomson described it. There is no end to their design and detail.

I have felt a special kinship to these crystal beauties as I have watched them, enchanted by their exquisite, delightful dances. I have heard them when they have tranquilly touched white forest floors blanketed by their own powder. I have felt their sting, their crisp chill upon my face when "the ways deep and the weather sharp" (T S Eliot). I have stood outside letting them fall on face and arms and hair until my teeth chattered, my hat was painted white, and the cold had penetrated to my shaking bones. I have watched with the glee of a child exclaiming how this one or that one was the biggest ever - so big that we could see the delicate details as it fluttered by. We used to set out wax paper to catch them, studying their intricacies until we breathed too closely and they melted. Great was our loss when that happened. Oh the joyful hours spent in pursuit of snowflakes. Even now I am enchanted and find immense happiness when I am home "when the icicles hang by the wall" (Shakespeare) and I can follow the furious flurries with my eyes.

Can it be that I am like a snowflake, without a duplicate, without a double? Without a doubt there is no other exactly like me. I have been designed and created by One who specializes in unique masterpieces, One who has blown into me a breath of life that no other can live, and One who has rejoiced over the breathtaking beauty of what He has made in me. I am priceless, unmistakably irreplaceable. Much like the loss of a snowflake when it melts is the loss of me when my life flame flickers out or is extinguished. The same Creator who made each individual snowflake has made me with His hands and with His heart. And though this world may not remember that I offered it anything, He has recorded my coming and going. Even more importantly, He has written my name in His book of life and my spirit will never melt as the ice of a snow crystal will. There will be no shame in the loss because my soul will live forever, a flurry of love for my Father.

Yes I am a snowflake. Take notice that I am specially sculpted. Take joy in the glorious genius of the Creator who knew where to cut to make my miraculous, glistening design. Take pleasure in the pattern that was penned for one purpose. His glory. And then remember that this is you too. You are a snowflake of infinite value, flitting here, swirling there, a blasting blizzard, falling furiously at times, a serene story, simply shining in the light of the sun by day or secretly sparkling in the glow of the moon by night. Without a doubt, whether you like it or not, you are like no other. A snowflake for His glory. Amen.