The Snowfall Conflict

It was as if the angels were waging a snowball fight with a great swath of northwest Illinois. We were sitting in a restaurant at dinner when the fight began. On our drive to Rockford to meet up with my brothers, the temperature was warm enough that a light, intermittent rain fell—just enough to require the “mist” setting on the windshield-wiper control.

That all changed about the time the appetizers arrived. We watched as the rain gradually began mixing with tiny, sputtering snowflakes. Looking up a bit later, the changeover was complete. Initially, nothing particularly noteworthy. Before long, though, the “flakes” were monstrous—the size of small snowballs! And they just kept falling!

If the angelic host declared a snowball fight with us lowly earthlings, it wasn’t a malicious fight at all. This wasn’t the all-out snowball warfare waged on the school playground at recess, with larger-than-fist-sized projectiles hurled with all the might a fifth-grade warrior can muster. In those battles someone always ended up screaming from the sting of a snow-bullet slamming an exposed jaw.

This was instead more like the playful “fight” of parent and young child in the back yard. Try hard as he may, the toddler can barely get his tiny attempt at a snowball to reach the intended target. And the dad-target never packs his snowballs into hard, compact missiles that will take out the “enemy” and inflict great damage to his “fort.” No, they’re lightly held-together clumps, gently lobbed to elicit screams of delight rather wails of pain.

Such was the angelic snow war. The snow-clusters were still falling heavily when we left the restaurant. By now the ground was well-covered, our car as well. On the short walk from door to door, we couldn’t avoid the pummeling of these great clumps, no matter how hard we might have tried—and we didn’t bother. Instead we looked up allowing them to smack us gently on the face, opened our mouths trying to capture them in flight. Then stooping to the ground, scooping up a large handful of the heavy, wet stuff, we formed our own clumps and lobbed them almost as gently as the angels. Almost.

If they were listening, you can imagine the smile on their spirit-faces as we played a bit and laughed with delight at how beautiful their barrage was—much as the dad-target smiles at his toddler’s joyful laughter.

Well, enough of that. Sterling beckons, and the typical hour-and-fifteen-minute is sure to be extended due to the angels’ game. Extended indeed. As one might expect, the roads were a bit treacherous; visibility, sketchy. At one stretch along I-39 with no one in front of me, no one coming the other direction, I recalled a memory my brother shared at dinner. When his kids were small and they found themselves driving at night in a snowstorm, he’d turn off the headlights for a second, then tell the kids, “We’re about to go into warp speed!” Then turn the lights back on—the snowflakes were a blur in the headlights, like stars whizzing by the Millennium Falcon as it screamed through space.

For the fun of it(?!?), I turned on the high beams and a sea of blinding white instantly enveloped our car—it was just for a few seconds. And immediately a memory popped into my head that I promptly shared with Chris. “I distinctly remember,” I told her, “my Driver’s Ed instructor warning us, ‘Never turn on your high beams when it’s snowing outside! It’ll be even harder to see!’” Mind you, that was a few years ago—46, to be exact. She immediately replied, “I remember the same thing!” No, she didn’t say, “So why did you just turn on the high beams?!?” But then I chuckled. “That’s something a student in Driver’s Ed in south Georgia will never hear!!”

We arrived home and I was exhausted. The falling snow dancing in the headlights had a mesmerizing effect. That, coupled with the tension of driving on potentially dangerous roads, left me ready for a good night’s sleep. In the morning, I had to deal with the after-effects of the previous night’s storm—clearing out the driveway, shoveling the walks, etc.

Task completed, we decided to go for a walk outside at our favorite local walking area. Beginning in a park, the trail meanders through the woods, crosses a bridge, and opens out into another park. On the other side of the bridge, the trail skirts the bottom of a hill—a sledding hill, under these circumstances—and a number of kids and parents were enjoying the thrill of sliding.

Again the snow began to fall, but just lightly. The temperature hovered around 30 degrees. The fresh air filled our lungs with a cool, refreshing sensation. I concurred with Chris’s comment shared along the way: “I really enjoy walking outside like this! It sure beats the Y!”

The contrast didn’t escape me.

Last night, the same event—“the angelic snowball fight”—was both delightful and menacing. This morning, that which caused labor by the sweat of my brow, and eventually a few stiff muscles, also created a refreshing ambience. Then I wondered.

Will there be snow in heaven?

Guess what. The Bible doesn’t say. So, short answer: I don’t know.

But if there is….

I’m sure the streets of gold will be thoroughly maintained, free of ice, and completely dry so as to prevent any slips or falls or ditch diving.

With the curse reversed, if we have to deal with snow, it won’t be sweat-producing toil. Nor will it be a nuisance at all. We won’t have to bundle up against the frigid temps, or wear gloves to protect our hands as we build snow forts, or don boots to keep our feet from freezing.

Imagine a frolicking snowball fight on a snow-covered paradise hillside with the angels and perfect people. No intention to harm, even after being plastered on the side of the face—and that won’t even sting! Instead, only a desire to bring joy and delight.

Because a snowfall like Friday night’s and a snowscape like Saturday’s in the woods are such beautiful things, it might be hard to conceive of heaven lacking such beauty. One thing to keep in mind is that this-life beauty is but an appetizer for the beautiful entrée of heaven! In other words, if there is no snow in Glory, it’s because snow’s glory isn’t glorious enough for the place!

So I don’t know about snow in the New Earth paradise. But what I do know is that the worst stuff caused by the white stuff will be eradicated; the best it has to offer pales in comparison to what will definitely make up the celestial forever-home of the redeemed. Here’s how I know:

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

….Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him.

— Revelation 21:1-5; 22:1-3

I truly hope you’ll be there! Snow or no snow, our joy will know no end!