My sister loves snow globes.

She has a good-sized collection of them.

So a few weeks ago when I was out shopping, and I saw the perfect, glittery goodness shining like a beacon in the night, I knew it would be the perfect Christmas present. When I picked it up, the heavens split open and the angels burst forth in song.

Okay, not really.

But it really was perfect.

It was gigantic and heavy, a real beaut. I think it weighed at least 10 pounds. The globe was just smaller than a soccer ball, with a matte-silver base, and a beautiful vintage-looking church inside, surrounded by silvery, glittery snow.

I couldn’t wait to give it to her.

Christmas morning, when she opened it, she cried from the sheer beauty of it. I cried too.

I couldn’t have asked for a more nostalgic presentation.

Christmas night when Carrie was leaving my house, she packed the snow globe carefully in her car. She said her goodbyes, kissed my kids, and headed out on her 5 minute drive home.

She called me 4 minutes later, sobbing.

As she was making the turn into her neighborhood, the snow globe tumbled off the seat and shattered all over the floor of her car.

My heart sank.

Even under normal circumstances, a shattered snow globe would make my sister and I emotional. We are emotional people.

But my sister has had a rough year. So a shattered snow globe was simply a metaphor that was just a little too close to home.

To add insult to injury, when she was cleaning the shards of glass out of her car, she cut her finger.

Le sigh.

I did my best to comfort her. I told her we would fix it. Then I spent the next 2 hours in vain searching online for that exact snow globe, trying to replace it.

And right as I was about to drift off to sleep, dropping my iPhone on my face, I realized the lesson.

And hence, today’s blog fodder.

Sometimes we think we’ve found the perfect one. It is shiny and beautiful and we can’t imagine ever loving anything more. We take care to handle it with love and treat it with ever loving kindness. Then life takes a sharp turn, and The Precious is shattered.

Shattered in such a way that it is impossible to put it back together. So much so, that even cleaning up the mess causes us to get hurt.

It is natural for the people around us to try to fix it. Or replace it. Or help search for something prettier and shinier and better. But as hard as they may try to replace that for us, it will not be the same. It cannot be the same.

And it shouldn’t be.

My dear sister. I’m sorry your snow globe shattered. I know you didn’t have it very long, and now all you have is a memory of how beautiful it was…if only for a moment.

But no matter how beautiful that snow globe was, we must remember that it was still just a replica of the real thing.

And you deserve the beautiful, real, gorgeous, It’s a Wonderful Life kind of snow.

I will continue to hold out hope for your own personal blizzard.







  One thought on “Snowfall

  1. January 8, 2016 at 6:28 pm

    It’s a beautiful story. As a snow globe artist, I do know where to have it repaired. Let me know if you’d like the information.

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