One Can Hear the Falling Snow

The snow sloshed my toes as I pushed my 11-year-old body up the street to another house. Tears began to well up under the surface as my anger at my father grew. ‘How could he be so heartless? I thought as I reached into my bag of folded and mostly wet newspapers. “He doesn’t care about me at all,” I said aloud. I sucked my gloved fingers to warm them, forgetting that this action may make them temporarily warmer but would result in colder appendages later.

I hurriedly moved to the last house and threw my final paper. And as I was getting ready to make the journey home, the snowplow, whose snow wake all evening, stole from out of nowhere and blasted me with its man-made avalanche knocking me to the ground, covering me with hard snow rocks. Snow, dirt, and now ever more sloppy slush was oozing in each open crevasse of my clothes. 

The tears that were under the surface now rushed forward with full force. ‘This is going to be the worst Christmas ever’ I thought, ‘This is not what I signed up for.’ The paper route seemed fun in September when my brother signed up for it, and my parents asked if I wanted to split it with him. I looked forward to having my own money to spend. Now I felt cheated, robbed, swindled. No one told me things would be this hard.  Right then and there I decided I was going to quit.

I finished my route with the determination that this would be my last time. I had been telling my father for over a week now. But this was the night after the snowplow so callously flung its snow pile at me that. This was the night I was going to be firm. 

 “You made a commitment, remember?” he reminded, “You committed to 1 year.” I begrudgingly acknowledged that commitment. “I haven’t always had someone there to make me keep my commitments,” he counseled, “and the times I chose to shirk my duties are some of the biggest regrets I have.” I could see I was not going to win this fight. “You see, while I am in charge anyway, I won’t allow you to make the same mistake. Believe me; someday, you will thank me.” 

 What I was yet to find out was that there were a lot of great things about being a paperboy. Yes, the money, however, never again in my life would I work so hard for so little. But I would learn to love the people I served. And I would learn to enjoy the sights and sounds of the weekend mornings, especially at Christmas Time. 

One of the best experiences anyone can have is to be the first person to make tracks in the snow just after a storm. For most people, that doesn’t happen very often, but for anyone obligated to work early morning hours being that first pioneer to tread across the snow-covered roads can be invigorating. 

I have known a few times when absolute peace is in the world that would come close to when I would deliver papers on a weekend morning right after a snowfall. Often there would be just a small flurry of snow still falling. And the tree would be enveloped, and the white carpet spread out by nature’s gentle hand. Even as a young 12-year old, I could grasp just how beautiful this world could be. 

Maybe I am naive, but this peace is the same peace many are searching for throughout their lives. It is the peace that people pay therapists, yoga instructors, faith healers, and countless other sources. People search this peace out in books and movies and music. But His peace is sometimes found in the quiet places of the soul. 

It is in those places that I begin to understand the Atonement of Jesus Christ. That is the real peace I have found. Figuratively, the snow falling to the ground and covering the earth and all of flora and fauna around is like having a clean slate, in preparation for the coming spring when life will once again burst forth.

Sometimes the snow can be violent and devastating, especially when thrown at you by a rushing snowplow. But it can also be quiet and peaceful and open up your soul to greater stimulus. That peace is not exclusive to snow, nor is the Spirit of Christ and the magic of this season.