snow covered and pulling a heavy wagon

this is a photograph. a photograph that i snapped one thanksgiving when the snow, a rarity in my city, showed it's face at my parents' house. this photograph was chosen for a 2010 calendar that circulates locally, and most recently, it was chosen as part of a little art show too. it was truly a picture that i took in a quick moment as my mom was yelling through the kitchen for me to shut the door, and my bare feet refused to step out into the snow. i didn't realize in that rushed minute, i captured something much deeper.

the red wagon is a child's toy. little boys fill them with dirt. little girls fill them with dolls. parents fill them with their children in an attempt to avoid carrying their sleeping bodies ten blocks home after late night fireworks.

this particular red wagon never got to be a child's toy. it didn't hold dirt or dolls or sleeping children. instead, it held gallons of milk, boxes of cereal, and other meal supplies as the nine-year-old hands gripped the handle and tugged it up the hill toward home. the wagon never got to be a child's toy, in truth, because the nine-year-old had to stop being a child.

the red wagon, rust-covered and missing a wheel, sits semi-forgotten in the corner of the porch. it has become a symbol of sadness, and this photo a bittersweet reminder of a life once lived. despite it's blemishes, someone deemed the wagon good enough to hold overflowing pots of fire red mums. someone decided that it was worthy enough to be placed next to the orange roundness of new pumpkins. someone decided that it still had life and was worthy of beauty.

nineteen years later, the once nine-year-old has realized that she is not much different than the wagon, full of rust and missing parts. nineteen years later, the once nine-year-old has realized that even though she isn't deserving, she has been offered a grace that covers the rust in a new layer of beautiful red paint. she realizes that there is a power in the death of one man, and that in that death, she was given an incredibly beautiful life. a life worthy of fire red mums and perfectly shaped pumpkins.

when i took this picture, it didn't occur to me that there was no logical reason that the mums should still be fire red beneath the snow. there was no great explanation for why the pumpkins had yet to rot in the winter air. both retained their color, their life despite the frigid temperatures and precipitation that beat down upon them.

there is this really cool thing about following jesus called life that comes through walking in the gospel of grace. it's a life that can survive the pounding snow and ice. it's a life that manifests itself in the beauty of smiles and kind eyes. a life that prevails when death is present.

nineteen years later, the once nine-year-old is realizing that this life has made her beautiful. she's seeing that without this man named jesus she may not have survived being a nine-year-old. she's understanding that being a nine-year-old with a wagon not used as a toy has paved a life of truly relating, to knowing the souls, of those less known. nineteen years later, the once nine-year-old only hopes that this life given to her brings life to others in moments when they are covered in snow and pulling a heavy wagon up the hill.

nineteen years later, the once nine-year-old wouldn't trade one moment for another.

"for it is by grace you have been saved, through faith-and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of god-not by works, so that no one can boast. for we are god's handiwork, created in christ jesus to do good works, which god prepared in advance for us to do." ephesians 2: 8-10