Snowball in July: A High School Writing Project's Lesson on Becoming Childlike

Our Catholic Country Chronicles blog has been such a blessing in my life.  It is a space where I can wrestle with God and openly share about how He is working in my life.  It has become the hobby that I never even knew I needed!

I wanted to remind you today that, although I love writing, I am by no means an educated writer.  As I mentioned in past posts, my degree is in Dairy Production and Management. I don’t remember writing a single paper during my 2-year VoTec college career!  Instead, we balanced cattle rations and learned how to market our commodities.

Nevertheless, writing has become my hobby of choice, and something that brings me great joy.

I got bit by a very rare organizational bug a few weeks back and wreaked terror on many of the forgotten spaces of my home.  My office closet was one such area that I tackled with great gusto.  Amongst the many forgotten treasures and dumpster candy, I found a neatly stapled and wrinkle-free paper that I had written back in High School. 

I smiled when I discovered it and took a few minutes to indulge myself in reading it.  But first, a little backstory on this particular paper.

I took a writing class in my junior year of high school.  I don’t remember much about this class, but apparently, this particular paper made an impression on the teacher, as she kept it.  Many years later, she gave it to my dad, who then gave it to me.

Based on the very colorful descriptions, I am going to assume that this was a descriptive essay about a real-life experience.  I am going to share it with you now, and am gritting my teeth as I rewrite it without any edits.

Snowfall is one of the most magical experiences for a child!

Snowball in July

"Meat day.  Groans were heard grumbling all around the Molitor house this particular uncomfortably warm July day.  This is that one day that occurs every six months, much to the dismay of the many Molitor sisters and I, that is spent breaking our backs over the heavy burden of boxes piled high with frozen flesh in the familiar white packaging.  Such a strain was placed upon us as we lifted those burdensome boxes out of the back of our spacious 15-passenger van.  The entire back is filled with these boxes, and they must all be strategically placed into our three freezers.  Now this wouldn’t be such a great task to overcome if it weren’t for the fact that they were all filled with various other things ranging from bread to pizza to pork to a large unmarked box filled with a sweet thought of long ago…

“The forecast for all of this week and into the next are expected to be nothing but snow storms, so bundle up and watch your driving.  We’re expecting at least three feet on the ground before we pull through this one.”  My mom sighed as she switched Paul Harvey off.  “This is not looking good for your father.”  She warned.  See, I grew up on a dairy farm, so a large blizzard could do a lot of damage for us.  The more snow, the harder it is to get the cows fed, keep them dry and in some cases to even get them in general!  But at the tender young age of 9, do you honestly think I cared?

That entire week at school all of us kids were overly energized.  The more snow, the more excited we got!  By Thursday the teachers were constantly harping on us to settle down and mind our lesson, but were they crazy?  Did they see the beautiful world around us?  Did they see the glimmering carpet of white beckoning us to come explore the vast playground that it created for us?  Did they understand this very marvel right before their eyes?  Of course not, they’re old!  They can’t see that glorious beauty nor understand the immense joy in the simple things that only the pure, virgin eye of a child can.  To them, as to my mom, it was a huge problem.

I awoke bright and early, eager to start my day, as only a third grader can.  As I skipped down our open staircase, I once again heard the deep tone of Paul Harvey’s voice that I had fallen in love with, and unofficially married, reporting the news.  Once again his words brought great joy to my little ears!  School’s canceled!  This meant that I had the entire day to do whatever I felt like doing!  I immediately ran up the flight of steps that I had previously descended to awake my older sisters.

“My husband just told Mom that we don’t have school today!”  I bellowed to my oldest sister Melaine.  The much more mature sixth grader chucked her pillow directly at my face which sent me flying.  It was her way of reprimanding me for stealing her from her precious dreams, and probably for convincing myself that I was married to the voice of a seventy-year-old!

Her roommate Kristin simply rolled over and buried her face into her pillow, after over-exaggerating an eye rolling exercise.  I had seen that one before!  She was only fifteen months older, yet she always acted like I was so immature compared to her superior self.

Defeated, I went to hunt down my always-dependable younger sister, Hannah.  Just as I had anticipated, she was lying on my side of the bed!  I wasn’t out of there for more than fifteen minutes, and already she had coveted the much-more-comfortable region of our lumpy mattress that I called my own!

“Get up you lazy bum!”  I yelled, then immediately covered my mouth.  If my mom heard me talking like that she would surely wash my mouth out with soap!  That is one of the cruelest things that a mother can do to her young innocent child!  From experience I knew that I didn’t want that awful taste creating that slimy smooth feel over my teeth.  So I cut the yelling and proceeded in waking my seven-year-old sister by consistently jumping directly on top of her.  This simple process is the quickest in arousing a young one, but it has its downfalls.  Once the victim is awake, they aren’t too eager to listen to whatever it is they need to know!

But this passive youngster got over it soon enough once she heard my exciting news.  She flung the covers to the floor and stripped off her nightgown.  She pulled on her favorite stretch-pants and a fluorescent flowered sweater and was down the steps before I even finished my last sentence.

We played in the heaps of snow all morning.  We made many families of snow angels, plowed paths of snow and pretended we were cars, and we sledded down the hill.  We both gave and received a few snow washes, played in the actual igloo that my dad had made from the snow heap plowed from the driveway, and of course, our favorite-snowball fights.

Our tired little arms were so sore by the end of the day.  But it was in that moment of weakness then that my brilliant plan came to me!  “Hey Hannah, do you remember what summer feels like?

“Well I remember that it’s hot!”

“Well when I throw these snowballs at you, how does it make you feel?”

“Cold.”

“Exactly!  See Hannah, you are smarter than you think you are!  Why don’t we make a ton of snowballs and freeze them!”

She agreed with my brilliant plan (younger sisters are great confidence boosters) and we set to work forming perfectly rounded balls of snow.  My mom told us to wrap them in newspaper so they wouldn’t freeze together.  We spent the remainder of the evening forming and wrapping until our box was filled to the brim.  We duct taped that baby shut and burrowed a hole all the way to the bottom of the long freezer.  Once our hole was big enough, we placed the heavy box on the floor of the freezer and piled back on the frozen vegetables, whole chickens, and beef that had previously rested in that corner.  Our snowballs lived here in blissful harmony until they were discovered years later, but by that time we had forgotten our innocent deed…

“Hannah, would you hurry it up already?  My gosh, I’m not exactly the strongest woman on the face of this earth!”

So I was a little stressed out, but who wouldn’t be standing there holding a fifty pound box full of frozen ground beef?

“Would you relax, Leah?  The world doesn’t exactly revolve around you ya know!  I’m clearing a place for you, so quit your whining!”

As she was saying this she pulled out a large unmarked box taped shut.  Too annoyed to even be remotely curious as to what was in this box, I simply stepped around her as she tried to peel off the frozen tape.  Minutes later she came out the victor in her battle against the tightly sealed box.

Opening the box, she revealed our once-precious jewels, and after a confused minute, we both melted into the sweet memory of our young childhood.  Thoughts of large mugs of hot chocolate in our freezing little fingers standing by the heat register, of being married to Paul Harvey and not caring what everyone else thought, because a young love is an innocent love.  Thoughts of being capable of waking up with a smile on our faces, not having to hit the snooze button seven times before having the energy to move, of appreciation for the small things in this world that are often bypassed because of the busyness of our lives.  And finally, there were thoughts of snowball fights from long ago.  Back when physical abuse was worse than verbal abuse.

Almost as if on cue, we both picked up a freezer-burned snowball and chased each other around the yard until we both simultaneously fired our missiles and felt the sharp burn of a once-soft, now rock-hard snowball.

 Jesus asks us to become childlike to enter the Kingdom of God. 

 Lesson on Becoming Childlike

It is hilarious to me to think that at 16 years of age, I could reminisce about the good ol’ days.  They were literally 7 years earlier!  Nowadays, I blink my eyes twice, and 7 years have gone by! 

You probably noticed that this story was HIGHLY fabricated... While it is true that I thought I was married to Paul Harvey as a child, he would not have been the one forecasting our local weather.  But like a true writer, only an element of truth is needed to tell a compelling story!

But boy, did that hit a nerve when I read my old words about the teachers not understanding the glimmering carpet and vast playground that the snow provided because they are old.  RUDE!

Well played, 16-year-old Leah, but I am going to challenge you here.  Jesus asks us to become like a child to enter the Kingdom of God.  In this case, age doesn’t matter; only the disposition of our hearts.  But I will say that I am impressed that my High School self happened to unlock the mystery of finding Christian joy!

In becoming childlike, we put our hope in the Lord alone, and all of those big logistical questions melt away.  When we experience the peace that this provides, it leaves room for us to see (and I am paraphrasing from my paper above now) the glorious beauty and to understand the immense joy of simple things that only the pure, virgin eye of a child can.

The wonders of the world come alive again, and you are able to see and hear all of creation singing His glory.

Lord, give me a childlike faith to trust You unconditionally.

Give me a childlike heart to love You in a pure and all-encompassing way.

Give me childlike eyes to see the beauty and wonder in the world created just for me.

Give me childlike ears to hear the birds calling and the rain falling, and to join in their hymn of praise to You.

Give me a childlike soul that I may spend all eternity in Heaven singing Holy Holy Holy!

Until next time, your sister in Christ,

Leah