Yesterday morning a severe cold front swept through our area. All the local news shows’ meteorologists made a big deal out of the upcoming cold front, of course. I listened as one of them mentioned that elusive s-word. He said he felt obligated to tell his viewers that there was in fact a slim chance of snow associated with the cold front.
For some reason that s-word triggered a memory in my mind. I live in a part of the country with a very warm climate (no specifics, sorry). It has snowed exactly twice here in the fourteen years I have lived here. The first time was when I was in high school, and there were a few flurries in the air, but nothing even stuck to the ground, or the cars, or anything really. Still, it was a momentous enough occasion that I have the exact date seared into my memory.
The second time it snowed was two years ago. I was visiting my parents at the time, and thrilled because there happened to be snow on the ground there. It was expected to stick around until Christmas. I’ve always been obsessed with the idea of a white Christmas since it seemed impossible that it would ever happen, at least while I lived in this area.
You can imagine my disappointment when there were only a few drifts of snow left on Christmas morning. The disappointment was even more acute when the big news story in my parents’ town was the freak snow storm that hit my hometown on Christmas morning while I was away. All the pictures showed that the snow stuck, several inches of it. My hometown had been turned into a Christmas wonderland. It was, without a doubt, a miracle.
During that Christmas vacation, I started talking to a guy on the phone. We’d met online a few weeks earlier, and we were interested enough with each other that we took the relationship to the next level, coincidentally timed during our Christmas vacations. The freak snow in our hometown was one of the first things we discussed. Both of us were away for the holiday and couldn’t believe we had missed the miraculous event. Little did we know that we were starting one of our own.
While I was disappointed to miss the snow, it came at a perfect time in my life, a time when I needed proof that miracles could and did happen. Six weeks later, the guy proposed to me. Three months after that, I was married. M was a miracle in my life, brought to me at the perfect time, and I wonder if I would have accepted it was possible to ever meet the perfect man for me if I hadn’t already seen one Christmas miracle.
We are quickly approaching the two-year anniversary of M’s and my first date. It’s amazing how quickly the two years have passed, yet somehow it feels as if we’ve always been together. I keep hearing that the first year or two of marriage are the most difficult, and I wonder if that is true, then how good can our marriage get? Because this last year and half of marriage and two years of being together have been so easy and natural. If it only goes up from here, then the sky is the limit for how close we can get. I get to look forward to many, many more Christmases with him, and I wonder how many more Christmas miracles await us.