A Word of Caution: Please read at your own risk. Here in Kentucky where our winter has been exceptionally harsh and unforgiving, we'd like to boot our beloved Frosty from here to Tahiti.
She and I both saw it. The kid picked up the bulky head twice in order to oh-so-carefully and with oh-so much gumption put it right back on top again where it clearly belonged. Yet each time the heavy, no doubt melting and slightly slushy, crumbling head, toppled right back off. All the gallant efforts of a hopeful 10-year-old notwithstanding.
Traipsing past this wintry wonderland scene, we glanced at each other, while countless remember-when's twinkled in our eyes. This charming consequence was sweetly amusing yet tugged at our heart strings as we knew that when the inevitable faced the evitable, the inevitable tended to claim the win.
Not so with Frosty, however. Surely there is something we can learn from his lyrical legacy. Just how did he manage to beat the system? We might fondly recall that Frosty was a "jolly happy soul" who could actually come to life! He could dance, speak, laugh, play, and run. Kids loved him, and would loudly squeal, "Look at Frosty go!" as he thumpity thumped thumped his way over snowy hills and around the bustling town square.
Frosty even had a brain. He knew the sun was hot that one inevitable day. He realized he would soon melt away and, by golly, he'd better hurry on his way. In grand hero-style, he waved goodbye encouraging us not to cry because he would be back again some day. Frosty managed two feats at the same time: he disappeared from sight, but remained in our minds.
I don't know about you, but I have a few things in my life that appear quite literally melted, dead, and gone. They are certainly out of sight. But I have the sweetest hope tucked snugly in my heart that they will be back again some day. So perhaps I shouldn't cry.
King Solomon tells us that there is a season for everything under the sun (Ecclesiastes 3). There is a time to give up, yes, but there is also a time to search. With God's help, you might be able to save your Mr. Snowman after all.
The hot spring sun has a way of escorting our Snowmen to their winter graves, but perhaps, not for long. When the time is just right and the season turns a page, perhaps we shall look for the old silk hat, the corncob pipe, and the button nose.
In hope against hope [Abraham] believed...
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