It falls from a quiet sky, one that is grey but bright.
Unassuming, each snowflake floats to the earth. The ground is slowly covered. What was dirty and brown is now clean and white.

It is wet and heavy. Snowflakes huddling in larger and larger groupings.
It is beautiful. All traces of colour slip away. In gentleness, it takes over all surfaces.

Weight rests on the trees.
Their branches now, once strong and proud, are helpless.
Limbs strain as each snowflake adds to their burden. They droop in humility. What can they do in defense? Where can they hide? Nowhere. The trees are vulnerable where they stand. They bend over and bow down. The only thing to do is succumb to a higher law. Yes, they must.

weightKabowd covers too, Hebrew for Glory.
It is abundant and weighty, covering everything beneath it. In the tabernacle, the priests stood tall. With practice and precision, they attended to their duties.

Until kabowd.
It filled the tabernacle and got in the way. Weight fell on the priests and Moses was surrounded. Humbly they fell, succumbed to a higher law. What could they do? Where could they hide? Nowhere.

The snow continues, pouring much faster now.
It piles higher and deeper; the driveway is gone. It closes us in and we are unable to move. Yet we do not enjoy it, for we do not like to be hemmed in. The garage door opens. The snow blower roars, pushing back against the weight. Soon, the stained ground is revealed once more. We are freed again! Are we?

Have we felt the weight of His kabowd on our arms? A glory too heavy for upraised hands? Too weighty as to stand? We long for this kabowd. We pray for the moment of the priests; but perhaps only when convenient.

And all the while kabowd falls gently around us, on us, and in us.
Have we not noticed it covering our stains, making all things fresh again? No, we brush it off our shoulders. We push it out of of the way, ignoring it’s quiet invitation to stop; to rest. Can we not see for it’s brightness? Is it unrecognizable? Maybe it comes as a kind word, a gift, or an expression of love from another?

Certainly we know the weight of glory will not look like tiredness or weakness! It would never hem us in, begging us to stop… right? Convinced we push on, our last strength spent against the very kabowd we seek.

The trees are blessed, because they remain.
Unlike them, we forge pathways of escape, even though they be stained…

Undeterred, the bright sky showers on. The snow continues to fall.
Quiet. Gently.

Where can we hide?