Sunday morning, it was starting to snow,
so we went to worship you, Gracious God,
in the chapel of our retirement community,
instead of in our usual church in town.
Once when we were young
we enjoyed driving
in a heavy snow storm
just for the beauty of it,
but then police stopped us
and told us to go home.
Now, we are glad to settle in.
Food is always at hand.
We are blessed.
Thank you, Gracious God.

Psalm 147:16-17:
He gives snow like wool; he scatters frost like ashes. He hurls down hail like crumbs—who can stand before his cold?

Hymn: In the Bleak Midwinter


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