Denver’s been in a drought for at least five years. Last week’s large drop of heavy wet snow brought moisture we desperately needed. While rather little of the snow remains on the ground, the recent blizzard here has had some rather impressive lasting effects on the landscape of my hometown.

The streets are strewn with tree limbs – many of which are as stout as me. While on the way to work this morning, I noticed an old pine tree. The top half of it (about 20 feet) was missing. That tree was probably at least 80 years old. A short distance away a massive elm bough lay – shattered. Its core was rotten. A few neighborhood trees were completely uprooted as the soil surrounding them became saturated.

As the seasons progress, most of the neighbors will have be less shade, fewer flowers, less leaves to rake, and less water gulped up by big thirsty trees. The snow did quite a pruning job. Not necessarily the pruning choices that the householders would make, of course. If the householder doesn’t trim the trees, then nature does. (Our yard was relatively unscathed since we had a crew come out to trim most of our trees a couple of years ago.)

The snow is a good metaphor for Lent. We encounter the Living Water in the coldness and aridity of our lives and, consequently, some things change for us. The changes aren’t necessarily those we would choose, but they’re made necessary by the past choices we’ve made and the inscrutable actions of that which is beyond our understanding.

The problem is that what’s gone above is, relatively speaking, the easy part.

Psalm 51 reminds: “Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow”. I’ve been so washed (repeatedly). Still, every time I end up like the piles of snow at the side of the road covered in grime. That’s where the real frustration comes – the dogged persistence of sin in my life. So far the pruning hasn’t gone nearly so far as I need it.