The Forgotten Snow Pants

It wasn't supposed to happen this early.

Although I've lived in Wisconsin all my life and should be accustomed to the fact that snow is a possibility ALWAYS, I still wasn't ready.

So when I found myself in the chaotic sequence of getting all things for winter play ready and packed to go with each of my four children to school in late October, I shouldn't have been surprised. But I still was.

Oh, how I loathe this process of where's your other mitten? do you have a hat? why are your things still wet when I asked you to hang them to dry in the basement yesterday? And are you sure your boots from last year are too small already???

But nevertheless, it was apparent that winter had come upon us, even while the pumpkins still sat perched on our front porch, their faces now peering out between snowflakes. And ready or not, here it was.

So when the family pup and I returned home from the blustery morning drop off, I was elated to enter our quiet, cozy house, the coffee pot still warm with the promise of a few moments of peace before diving into my work. I had intentionally planned a “home day” for myself, knowing that I would enjoy the falling snow much more from inside the house than outside.

I hadn't even taken off my coat or gloves when I saw them: one of my twin son's snow pants hanging over the back of his dining room chair.

I can't exactly remember if I simply let out a sigh or perhaps verbalized my frustration to the dog, but I do recall feeling oh-so deflated. For I knew the decision that loomed before me: do I be “the hero” and head back the way we came to deliver my son's ticket to an incredible recess or do I let the lesson teach itself that once one reached full-time school age, he ought to be responsible for his own things?

In my mind, there really was no good answer. If I chose the former, it would mean venturing back out into the cold, driving somewhat slippery roads and losing a good half hour (or more) of my day. If I chose the latter, I'd feel bad that my son would miss out on one of the first good snows of his “recess career” and question if whether or not I had even succeeded in teaching a lesson or simply making my son miserable.

Despite the voice of my counselor and other experienced parents in my head, I chose to be the hero. After all, I reasoned, the kid had been a kindergartener for less than two months – he was still getting his bearings on the whole “full time” school thing and proved to be quite responsible in other aspects of his childhood life. Not to mention I hate seeing my kids disappointed and I technically had the time to run them to school.

I'm coming back for you, I whispered to the coffee pot, grabbed my keys and the snow pants, and loaded myself and the dog into our minivan for the second time in an hour.

I valiantly strode into school, found my son's coat hook and hung the pants there for him to find. And although I'll admit it made me feel good to know how pleasantly surprised he'd be come recess time, I was still feeling a little bit bitter about the whole situation.

I made haste to get out of there, not wanting to be discovered by any of my children and also hearing the hot coffee at home still calling my name. As I left the school doors, I saw a fellow mom I knew as an acquaintance, we exchanged morning greetings and I briefly told her about my morning debacle. She gave me a knowing smile, told me how kind it was that I had made the decision I had and then began a conversation I never expected to have that morning.

“Hey, I've been meaning to ask you,” she started, “you've said in the past that you struggle with some anxiety and depression, right?”

“Yep, that's me!” I said, having accepted long ago that my battles against my own mind were best brought out in the light than hid away somewhere for no one to see.

“Do you happen to have any tips for me? Specific things you've found that work or help? I've been wrestling a little with some anxiety and just was thinking you may have some words of wisdom.”

I felt a smile from deep within me well up and find my lips.

“Well, sure!” I told her. “I obviously only know what works for me, but I would love to talk to you more about it and share with you some 'go-to's that I've found. I by no means have it figured out, but have picked up a few things along the way that you might find helpful.”

And we stood there, in the falling snow, two moms on different paths for the day but still in the same battle.

And I marveled.

I marveled at the fact that God had used something so seemingly insignificant – and admittedly annoying – as a pair of forgotten snow pants to bring me to that moment. I marveled at the boldness God provided to this fellow momma which allowed her to share a part of her journey with me and reach out in that moment. I marveled at the mental struggles God had seen fit to allow me to wrestle with which gave this woman a confidant in a moment when she needed one.

And I marveled at how I almost missed it.

Yes, I could have chosen to teach my son a lesson about responsibility that morning. And that wouldn't have necessarily been “the wrong” choice. But perhaps it wouldn't have been “the best” choice for me that day. Because maybe, just maybe, the one who needed a bigger lesson that snowy October day was me. For in that moment, God yet again reminded me just how every seemingly insignificant detail of our lives is part of a greater plan. For we were created to know Jesus and make Jesus known. And there truly is no greater purpose.

Since that day, I have been blessed to share multiple text conversations with this incredible woman and a morning coffee date which stretched into the afternoon. I thank God that He allowed our paths to cross on a random snowy weekday and pray that He continues to open my heart and my mind to hear His voice and respond to His nudges on a daily basis.

For there is so much He’s just waiting to show us.