I thought we’d be back to normal by now.

Dallaska—as it’s been coined here in North Texas—has lingered longer than expected. Schools are closed for the fourth day tomorrow, though warmer temperatures and slushy roads are finally revealing a faint light at the end of this winter tunnel.

I’ve been contemplating how to make the most of seasons that stretch longer than anticipated. How to lean in, not out. How to open my eyes, my ears, my heart to what God might want to show me when my regular programming is paused.

One voice tells me I’m stuck. Trapped. That I should resist the ice, the disruption, the slowing down.

Or… I could embrace it.

Instead of focusing on what’s been canceled or delayed—what’s messy, missed, or undone (including the state of my house after five straight days inside)—I’m choosing to look for the simple joys tucked inside the disruption.

Long runs on icy, isolated roads.
Hot coffee, hot tea, hot chocolate—all day.
No reason to put on “real pants.”
Movie marathons with the kids.
New games.
Finishing a massive novel.
Learning something new.
Lingering conversations with friends.

These moments won’t always be available. Soon the roads will thaw, schedules will fill, and life will return to its usual pace—and that’s okay. Life can be full and fast and good.

But every now and then, we’re forced off the merry-go-round of busy. Every now and then, the hustle stills—and we still with it. Like the snow settling on the ground, we do too.

So before the ice melts, before activities resume and “normal” returns, I want to be attentive to the quiet gifts of my right-now life—and grateful for a God who meets me here.