This is our first winter in the Thumb of Michigan.
And yes… it’s snowy. And icy. And gray in that very Michigan way that feels like the sky and the ground had a meeting and agreed to match.
But here’s the thing—snowy winters aren’t new to my wife and me.
My wife grew up in Western New York, where feet of snow falling overnight wasn’t some rare weather event—it was Tuesday. I lived in Ohio and WNY too, so snowstorms, ice storms, and digging out cars before work were just part of life. We’ve done the cold. We’ve done the boots. We’ve done the “is this frostbite or am I just dramatic?” check.
Our kids, though? Totally different story.
After years in sunny, warm North Carolina, they kind of forgot what snow even was. Winters there meant cold temps, sure—but snow? If we got anything, it was a dusting that melted by 10 a.m. Schools didn’t close. Snow pants stayed in the closet. Life moved on.
Now?
Every snowfall is an event.
We’ve built a few snowmen already—each one proudly standing for about 48 hours before a thaw wipes it out… only for the next snowfall to bring round two. The kids get excited every time, like it’s the first snow they’ve ever seen. Honestly, it’s contagious.
I like the snow too.
I genuinely love having four seasons. In North Carolina, I always felt like we skipped a few. Winter was cold but brief. Spring lasted about a week or two—just enough to tease you—then pollen season hit. And when I say pollen, I mean everything was yellow. Cars. Decks. Your soul.
After a couple more nice days… summer arrived.
Hot days. Hot nights. Constant sweating. Repeat until October.
My wife, on the other hand, loved it.
And I get it.
I’ve heard people say if you grow up with snow, move away, and then come back to it later, it’s harder to appreciate. That might explain why so many “snowbirds” head south every winter. (No judgment… okay, maybe a little playful judgment.)
She’s not wrong for loving warmth. I’m not wrong for liking snow. We’re just wired differently—and that’s part of the fun.
What’s struck me this winter isn’t really the weather, though. It’s how much joy can come from simply being present where God has planted you.
Ecclesiastes 3 tells us there’s a season for everything.
Not just metaphorically—but literally.
There are seasons that feel easy and warm, and seasons that feel cold, slow, and inconvenient. Seasons where things bloom fast, and seasons where it feels like everything is dormant.
But winter isn’t wasted.
Winter does quiet work.
The ground rests. Roots grow deeper. What looks lifeless on the surface is often being strengthened underneath.
That’s true in nature—and it’s true in us.
Sometimes God places us in a “winter season,” not to punish us, but to prepare us. To slow us down. To remind us that growth doesn’t always look flashy. Sometimes it looks like faithfulness. Sometimes it looks like patience. Sometimes it looks like building snowmen that won’t last—but laughing anyway.
So for now, we’ll bundle up. We’ll scrape windshields. We’ll watch the kids lose their minds over fresh snow. And we’ll embrace this season for what it is.
Cold hands. Warm hearts.
And a reminder that wherever God plants you—north or south, snow or sunshine—there’s beauty to be found if you’re willing to see it.
Even if it melts by tomorrow.
