NOTE: The following is not family history, but I thought you might enjoy it. Next week is a post about William Flansburg.
Maybe once per winter, maybe less, weather conditions converge to change the countryside into a wonderland by night. Whenever it happens, I celebrate its brightness by turning off my headlights and driving by moonlight. It always happens after a snowstorm moves out and arctic high-pressure moves in to take its place. The moon is at least three quarters full and the countryside is open pastureland. The sun’s radiation from that day is just warm enough to put a slight glaze of ice on top of the newly fallen snow.
When this concoction brews, the moon robs the night of its black veil, and the fields sparkle like millions of diamonds. Each snowflake is a mirror that beams its tiny ray of light into the darkness. In concert, the symphony of beams brightens the night into day. The beauty of the light cannot be replicated, not even by sunsets which are masterpieces of light of a different sort.
The majesty and wonder of this sparking event reminds me of the omnipotence of God. It also reminds me of how much God has to say about darkness and light in the scriptures. In heaven, there will be no darkness. We’re all aware of that and we accept it as a treasure from God. But the fact that God’s glory will be the light (Rev 21:23) speaks to the quality of the light. It will not be earthly; not florescent nor incandescent, not a sunset nor even a wonderland by night. It will be of a radiance so pure that even though its brilliance will be infinite, it’s intensity will not harm our glorified eyes. It will be the most pleasing light we have ever seen. It will be infinitely more magnificent and pleasing than the prettiest sunset or the winter wonderland by night.