Don't stop.

Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads.  Write them on the door frames of your houses and on your gates. --Deuteronomy 6:7-9

What a crazy winter we have had in Ohio! Snow on top of snow on top of snow. 

The "Chinese guard dogs" of slush and ice that the plows sculpted at the end of my driveway? Earlier in the week, they were pugs. This morning-- they are Great Danes. I shoveled as I was able, and the fluff and stuff are now piled as high as my armpits. At least. 

The front sidewalk, undrifted, has a good-- or should I say solid-- seven inches of snow. Where the winds have gathered it up, shuffled and and dealt it afresh, it's well over a foot deep in places.

They say on the radio that major highways are having to close because of accidents and unaware drivers. 

I spoke with a young lady yesterday when I gave blood. She is a senior in high school. She could say, quite literally, that this is the worst winter she has seen-- wait for it-- in her entire life! 

My neighbor, yet again, has shoveled out the grass in their back yard so the dog can do her business. (Yes, fans, this is yet another reason I am a cat person.)

All this snow has impressed upon me two thoughts this morning, as I listen to the growl and scrape of snow blowers and shovelers.

First: I love snow, I really do. But this past week or so, I don't believe there is a soul among us who has not confessed that we just can't take much more. Please! A little break-- just one melt? A few days above freezing? 

And yet. The snow, even in its massive, crazy quantities, is still blessing.

Blessing, even today, for children who are out of school and getting bored already.

Blessing for those whose livelihood depends on moving that snow off driveways and highways.

Blessing for those who will need the moisture for crops, come springtime. (And springtime will come. No doubt.)

But at the same time, I think sometimes, when the days are particularly wonderful, we do cry out to God in our hearts. God, I just can't take any more. I don't deserve this much blessing! Please-- a little break?

Truer words were never spoken. We do not deserve one iota of what we receive. 

And yet. 

And yet when we open our eyes and look around, the blessings are piled up nearly to our armpits-- and still coming down.

That's one thought. Here is the other:

I am writing this because-- I must. Because the day we stop telling our stories, we begin to die away. We begin to forget who and Whose we are. 

And I believe this is happening in our world, and in our churches. We are not telling our story, faithful and true. And so we begin to forget. 

Even the texts we have heard since we were wee ones begin to grow cloudy or unfamiliar. 

The Good News, the best story ever told, begins to fade and be silenced. 

We need good news. We really do. In a time when the evening news begins and ends with anger and despair? Yeah, we need good news.

So. Tell your story. 

Write it on your forehead. Impress it upon the hearts of your children. Do not allow your story to be forgotten. 

That is why I blog. Not because I make the big bucks doing so. Not because my writing is always scintillating or spellbinding.

But because it is My Story, and I can't, not tell it. And My Story is but a single episode, an epic moment in a much greater Story that cannot, will not die. Without me-- without you-- the story is incomplete.

You matter. More than you may know.

Gracious, Eternal Lord, teach us to tell our story. Help us through the rough spots. Show us where you never left, not even for a moment. And guide us as we walk together, shining light into the dark corners and reminding one another: we are never, ever alone. Amen