When the Snow Reminds You God Still Keeps His Word
Chicago has already recorded 17.1 inches of snow this season, making it the snowiest start to winter by Dec. 7 since 1978, when more than 24 inches had fallen by this point.
I will never forget that winter.
I was five and a half years old—tiny, light, and barely strong enough to hold myself up in the world, let alone a loaf of bread in a snowstorm. My mother’s favorite grocery store was Hillman’s on 95th and Jeffrey on the South Side of Chicago. That was our spot. And when my mother said we were going to the store, there was no arguing. Snow or not, we walked.
Looking back, it had to be about a 10–15 minute walk in normal weather. But that day? With mounds of snow nearly up to my waist and winds that felt like they wanted to snatch the breath from my little chest, it felt like hours. At 5½ years old, I was tiny—not even three feet tall yet—and lightweight. Today, as a full-grown adult who has never weighed more than 125 pounds, I can only imagine how feather-light I must’ve been then. Every step felt like my legs were heavier than the bread I carried. That loaf felt like the weight of the world in my mittened hands.
My mother walked ahead of me, steady and intentional. I remember feeling the distance between us—not just in steps but in presence. She was close enough to see yet far enough for me to feel alone. I kept lifting one leg after the other through snow that seemed determined to swallow me whole. I didn’t think I would make it. The cold bit my skin. My cheeks burned. My legs throbbed. But I kept going, because she kept walking.
I am Chicago born and raised. Those streets shaped me in ways I am still understanding. Though I’ve lived in Houston for four years now, Chicago will always be home. On my last few visits, I didn’t get any snow. I prayed for snow this year—not just to see it, but to feel it again, the nostalgia, the beauty, the childhood memory. And not only did the snow come…it arrived before I did.
It’s funny how the same snow that once intimidated me—snow that I truly believed might kill me—has become something I long to touch, laugh in, and run through again. Almost 48½ years later, I prayed for what once almost broke me.
When I read that post on 12/7/25, God whispered to me about that moment. As this year closes, I can look back over my life and see seasons where the weight I carried felt just like that bread—too heavy for me, too much for me, and far more than my little legs could handle. Times when I felt alone even though someone was just ahead of me. Times when I questioned if I would make it.
And yet—I’m still here.
Sometimes our promises feel the same way: out of reach, too far ahead, too heavy to carry. Sometimes the seasons we walk through feel like we are frozen and designed to destroy us. But God has a way of taking what once overwhelmed us and turning it into a place of reflection. A place of gratitude. A place of testimony.
The snow that once felt cruel and cold now reminds me of resilience, growth, and perspective. It reminds me I didn’t die in that season. It reminds me I made it. And it reminds me that God keeps His word just like He keeps His weather patterns—faithful, intentional, and right on time.
“For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven
and do not return there but water the earth…
so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
it shall not return to me void.” — Isaiah 55:10–11
I look forward to stepping back into that snow—not as the frightened child who thought she wouldn’t make it, but as the grown woman who knows she did.
And with the same God that was with me then.