Summer Snow

Growing up in South Georgia, there are certain things you never forget.

The smell of rain before it falls.

The rich scent of red clay after a summer storm.

The sound of rain dancing across a tin rooftop.

And the white crape myrtles.

When the breeze begins to blow, their blossoms loosen from the branches and drift through the air like tiny snowflakes. They float so gently across the green lawn that, for just a moment, it feels as though winter has visited summer.

Snow without the cold.

I’ve always loved watching them.

No rushing.

No struggling.

Just quietly letting go when the wind says it’s time.

Nature has a way of preaching sermons if we’re willing to listen.

Those blossoms don’t cling to the branch out of fear. They trust the season that carried them there in the first place.

Maybe that’s what God asks of us.

There are seasons to bloom.

There are seasons to hold on.

And there are seasons to let go.

We spend so much of our lives trying to keep everything exactly as it is—relationships, dreams, titles, even versions of ourselves that no longer fit who we’re becoming. We grip so tightly that we forget the beauty of release.

Yet the blossoms don’t mourn the branch.

They simply trust the wind.

Perhaps faith is learning to do the same.

To believe that if God is allowing something to fall away, He is already preparing what comes next.

The blossoms don’t lose their beauty because they leave the tree.

For one breathtaking moment, they become something even more beautiful as they dance across the grass.

Maybe letting go isn’t losing after all.

Maybe it’s simply trusting the wind enough to carry you where your roots never could.

“To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1

Sometimes heaven sends us snow in the middle of summer—not to remind us of winter, but to show us that beauty can appear in every season if we’ll slow down long enough to notice it.