I had an appointment this morning downtown. As I waited at a red light, windshield wipers going, I thought how much more I liked the snow when safe inside my own house. A homeless woman crossed in front of my car. She wore several layers of clothing, clutching the corners of her obviously too big pants, and the snow seemed to me to be magnetized to her face. I recognized her from my last appointment when I saw her sitting outside in an empty cafe chair in the cold drizzle. I wondered then why this woman would want to be sitting outside. Why wouldn't she find a dry, warm spot to rest? This time when I saw her, snow clinging to her bare face, I knew that she didn't own a dry, warm spot. She didn't own any spot. And sitting in someone else's spot does not carry with it that same sense of peace and comfort that comes from knowing that you're safe at home. How much I take for granted!
When I walked into my door hours later, I breathed a physical sigh of relief. It was so warm. So cozy. I really had nowhere I had to be. I lit a candle and baked cinnamon bundt cake (Thanks Ang for my mini pans). My house smelled like heaven. And it hits me. My home is my haven. And I thank heaven for blessing me with my very own warm, dry spot.
(What is your favorite thing to do when you're "snowed in"?)