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In recent days, I have poured myself into writing and recording, offering the fruit of my labor in video form. Yet strangely, my nights have been restless, as though the adrenaline of creation still courses through me. My whole being—spirit, soul, and body—was summoned to the task, and now I find myself weary. This morning, I rose later than usual. Descending to the living room and preparing breakfast, I looked out the window—and behold, the world was clothed in white. Opening the door, the sight before me recalled Kawabata Yasunari’s Snow Country: a hushed, pure landscape, as if heaven had laid its mantle upon the earth.

 

But age reminds me of my limits. The snow upon the steps, nearly half a foot deep, seemed a burden too heavy for me. I hesitated, wondering how I could manage. Yet after a simple breakfast, I took up the shovel and began clearing from the doorway to the driveway. Sweat poured, but strength was given.

 

And here lies the grace: though I once feared, after my hospital visit in June, that I would never again have the vigor to shovel snow, today I found my body upheld. What I thought impossible became possible.

So I give thanks. The whiteness outside is not only snow—it is a reminder of the mercy that renews me. “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow” (Isaiah 1:18). The Lord who covers the earth in purity also covers my weakness with strength. Even in small labors, His sustaining hand is revealed.