It's a crisp Sunday in January and I can't seem to find a way of keeping my feet warm, 3 pairs of socks later, I succeed. I'm glad I'm able to do that, in this world many don't have the luxury of wearing 3 pairs of socks at once. It has snowed about 4-6 inches since I lay my head down to rest last night. Sunday is my favorite day of the week, it's the fresh start. I always get dressed nicely to find my way to my local church, I spend my morning worshiping His name. But this Sunday is different. This Sunday church was cancelled due to hazardous road conditions. This Sunday God reminded me that I don't need to go to church to feel him. This Sunday he showed me He is in the white crunches under my feet and the ice crystals on my hair
The poem, "Rain, New Years Eve", reminds my of this revelation I had this morning. Maggie Smith writes about the fondness of the "broken" parts of our world. In the first five lines she writes about how her young daughter has already learned this lesson. She goes on to remind readers of this she is not fond of, assuming they wouldn't be either, like "roughhousing" and "sticky hands". But the turn in this poem is that the mother figure in this poem (maybe Maggie Smith(idk bruh)) is asking to allow herself to love these not so lovable things.
My favorite part of this poem is that last two lines:
"Let me listen to the rain's one note
and hear a beginner's song."
As the old folk always tell me: when one door closes, another opens. The mother's last wish, for lack of better words, its to be able to see the light in the bad, the convenience in the inconvenience.
Let me be snowed in on a Sunday
and still hear Your words.