I was driving the Blossoms home from Skeeter's piano lesson the other day and noticed a man with a 4-wheeler hooked up to a rope and a sled. Two beaming children sat on the sled. Oh, how I smiled! What memories! Back in the mountains when the snow would fly, Daddy (my Daddy, not to be confused with the Rugged, Mountain Man Blossom Daddy) hooked up a rope and sled to the beat-up old brown 1984ish Dodge truck we owned and pull us along the back roads and trails.
So. much. fun.
Snow covering your face. Speeds that the National Keep Kids Safe But Never Let Them Do Anything Fun Association would thoroughly abhor. Cold air blasting your cheeks til they were scarlet. The faint smell of gas from the Dodge's engine. The shouting laughter. The calling to each other from the cab of the truck that we'd fallen off and it was time to stop and reload. Good times.
Merry Christmas! May all your memories sprout from love, especially the love God shows us.
