Sometimes, on a particular winter night, when everything outside is cold, truly cold, there comes a slight drift of warmer, moist air. All that is bare and frozen on the windward side is layered then with a thick coating of white frost. All of color is lost beneath that luminous covering, but each shape is held, perfect and flawless. Only on the leeward side does the crystal covering fail to hide bough and branch beneath its entrancing sheath. We wake to understated display on an overcast day: bare trees strangely white on the ridge, heavy-needled pines soft and glowing on the fence line, winter foxtails bowed to earth in clumps of wonder. Even the path to the barn bears the mark of the gleaming phenomenon.

And then, mid-morning, when the lifting fog is gone and the sun breaks through, low and brilliant in December sky and we catch the sight at just the right angle, what was beautiful becomes glorious. In that spectacular light, dark trunks and thick branches are barely seen in that gleaming of the night’s pure magic.

There are traits of character formed from the work of years and tears, long days and weary nights that only come to light in certain situations. Unsuspecting, we pass by others, unaware of the work of life and grace that has already happened and is still taking place within them. And then, on a particular day, an uncommon event, some certain situation, we see them, suddenly transformed, it seems. And marvel at what the passing night has brought to light.

If we walk in the Spirit, love as we have been loved, and hunger and thirst for righteousness, we, too, will one day wake and find ourselves completely hidden by the glory of Christ.

H. Arnett



About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Blair, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-five years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-one grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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