Around lunchtime, snow flakes were twirling through the air. They were the kind that seem to float eternally, never quite finding their way to the ground. Of course they eventually did, but since the ground is warm and soft and the sun is clear and bright, they melted immediately.

And so our spring surroundings continue, untouched by the cold temperatures and snow's attempt at a return.

The weatherman declares the weekend will be much the same as today, which almost caused me to mourn having moved so many miles north 1.5 years ago, but then I saw that even were I still in Pittsburgh my weekend would not be so different. So I figured I ought to stop complaining.

It's funny. Each year I hope that we will have warmth and sun on Easter Sunday and each year it is usually cold and often gray. Each year I wear a dress much more suitable to June or July weather and each year I shiver through the entire morning worship service, despite always planning a matching cardigan.

Each year, and with each shiver, I wonder if I am trembling because I am so cold, or if I am trembling because I am so in awe of what Jesus did for me. As long as Easter Sundays remain chilly, I suppose I won't know for sure.