‘Twas The Blizzard Before Christmas

St. Augustine’s Boarding School for Catholic Youngsters was abuzz with excitement on the last day before winter break. Freshmen scurried through the halls, hauling suitcases and gift bags, anticipating the moment they’d see their families again. Christmas carols echoed through the building, adding cheer to the fading gray light of an early winter evening. 

But in the corner of the student lounge, 14-year-old Rebecca Alvarez sat with her chin on her knees, frowning at her phone screen. “Zero precipitation,” she grumbled for the third time. 

Her friend, Marie Patterson, glanced up from her geography textbook. “Becca, you’ve said that about five times. Why do you care so much?” 

“Because, Marie,” Rebecca huffed, her breath fogging the lounge window. “What kind of Christmas doesn’t have snow? It’s not Christmas without a white blanket covering everything. I don’t care if we’re in the northeast; it’s December. Snow should happen—unless you live in the tropics or in Oceania.” 

“Well, the weather app says otherwise,” Marie replied, shrugging. 

Rebecca sighed dramatically and looked outside. The lawn and parking lot were bare, the sky an endless, unbroken expanse of pale blue. It didn’t look the least bit wintry. “This is so wrong. I just want it to snow—please, God.” 

Marie arched a brow. “Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.” 

Rebecca waved her off, mumbling under her breath. "What could go wrong with a little snow?" 

The snow began falling during dinnertime in the grand refectory, while students were celebrating the final meal together. Candles flickered on the long oak tables as bowls of steaming stew and bread rolls were passed around. Father Tristan Greene, the young and enigmatic English and Latin teacher, raised his glass of mulled cider to give a pre-break blessing when someone interrupted him with a gasp. 

“It’s snowing!” 

Heads turned to the tall, stained-glass windows. Sure enough, outside, fat, lazy snowflakes spiraled down from the sky. Rebecca clapped her hands in delight. 

“See, Marie? Snow! It’s perfect!” 

Marie glanced toward the window but remained seated. “Yeah, great. But that doesn’t look like ‘zero precipitation.’ I thought you said you checked the forecast.” 

“I did! But this… This is wonderful.” Rebecca’s excitement was infectious, and the room buzzed with chatter about sledding and snowball fights after dinner. 

But by dessert, the snow was no longer falling lazily. Now, it hurled itself violently against the windows, driven by howling wind. The groundskeeper burst into the refectory, bundled in a coat dusted with snow. 

“Father Greene,” he said urgently, pulling the priest aside. “The roads are already unpassable, and the forecast says it’s turning into a full-blown blizzard. We’ve gotta cancel the shuttles and calls to pick up any students who haven’t left.” 

A hush fell as students overheard snippets of the conversation. Father Greene clapped his hands for attention. 

“My friends,” he said, his calm voice steadying the murmuring, “it seems we have been blessed with more snow than anticipated. For safety reasons, we’ll all remain on campus tonight. This is God’s will for us—one more night together before Christmas.” 

Rebecca beamed at the news, but her enthusiasm quickly faded when she saw the shocked and frustrated looks of her classmates. 

As the evening wore on, the situation worsened. Snow piled high against the school’s doors, sealing them in. The power flickered twice before cutting out entirely, plunging the students into chilly darkness. 

“Awesome,” muttered Marie sarcastically as she huddled in a blanket alongside Rebecca and their friend Jacob Connors in the lounge. “You wanted snow? You got snow. Happy now?” 

Rebecca squirmed. “It’s not my fault. How was I supposed to know this would happen?” 

“Because that’s exactly what ‘be careful what you wish for’ means,” Marie shot back. 

“I don’t think any of this is helping,” Jacob interrupted, holding his phone flashlight aloft. “Look, Father Greene said they’re gathering everyone in the chapel. Let’s go.” 

Grateful to have a plan, the trio joined the flow of shivering students heading for the chapel, the only place lit by backup generators. 

The chapel glowed with a warm golden light, but it wasn’t enough to distract from the icy reality of the blizzard outside. The students clustered in pews, swaddled in blankets and coats, while staff hurried to distribute hot cocoa heated over portable burners. 

Father Greene stepped up to the altar, his cassock faintly dusted with soot from an old chimney. “This storm has reminded us,” he began, “that we are not always in control of our lives. But in the darkest night, there is always light—sometimes quite literally, as we gather here with these candles. It reminds us of the Christ Child, a light born to guide us through storms of all kinds.” 

He gestured to the stained-glass windows, where the shadowy outlines of snow drifts were just visible against the golden light inside. 

Rebecca shifted guiltily. Marie caught her eye and gave her a small shrug, as if to say, Told you. 

After the impromptu service, a staff member announced sleeping arrangements: everyone would camp in the chapel, where it was warmest. Mattresses from the dorms were carried in, blankets distributed, and a sense of communal adventure began to build despite the challenges. 

As the students settled in, Rebecca leaned toward Marie and Jacob. “Okay, fine. I admit it. I’m… kind of sorry I wanted snow so badly.” 

Marie smirked. “Kinda? Becca, we’re literally snowed in because of you.” 

“Come on,” Rebecca protested. “It’s not just my fault.” 

“Sure, sure,” Jacob said, chuckling. “Let’s blame Rebecca anyway. It’ll make for a great story.” 

That earned a laugh from the group, breaking the tension. 

Morning revealed an astonishing sight. The blizzard had dumped more than four feet of snow overnight, burying the ground floor windows entirely. The students weren’t going anywhere. The mood turned festive once breakfast was served—cereal and milk, thanks to a generator-powered fridge. 

Father Greene, wearing an apron that said Bless This Mess, helped in the kitchen with other staff members. “I promised Christmas joy, didn’t I? Let’s make the best of it!” he said as he passed out bowls of oatmeal. 

After breakfast, a competition began to see who could shovel out the front door. Rebecca joined the group, determined to contribute after causing so much grief the night before. 

“Becca!” Marie called from the chapel doorway. “Be careful with the shovel—you might make things worse!” 

“Ha, ha,” Rebecca retorted, grinning despite herself. 

By evening, power had been restored and the front door was clear. Students laughed and hurled snowballs at each other on the front lawn, while staff snapped photos to share with their families. Rebecca couldn’t help but admit that, while the blizzard wasn’t what she imagined, it turned out to be a Christmas memory she’d treasure forever. 

“Next time,” she said as they returned to the chapel for one last gathering, “I’ll be more careful what I wish for.” 

Marie patted her shoulder. “I’ll remind you if you forget.” 

Father Greene offered one final prayer that night, thanking God for the unexpected snowfall—and the joy it had ultimately brought to St. Augustine’s.