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Saying Yes to Snow


My year of Yes kicks off with a biggie: snow.


I live in the mountains and I love it…in the summer.  Our summers are glorious. But winter snow, while lovely to look at from the couch, creates issues in my single-mom life, which are as follows:


  1. Driving in it.
  2. Shoveling it.
  3. I hate being cold.


And finally – and here’s a big and intimate one – snow is, for whatever reason, romantic to me.  Steve loved it – I mean he loved, LOVED it. That’s why he moved us here.  He loved watching it fall.  He even loved shoveling.  And every time it snowed at night, we would open the blinds on our window and lay in bed and watch it fall.  So, this year, the thought of snow feels especially cold and especially lonely.


However, here’s a thing and this thing is undeniable:  Snow is going to fall in Central Oregon and it’s going to fall often.  In fact, it would appear that it’s going to fall tomorrow.  I cannot say No to snow. It will not listen (and the skiers will want to punch me.)  Since snow is coming regardless, I have been thinking about what I can say Yes to.  Surely, there’s something snow can bring to my life if I will say Yes, instead of kicking and screaming.  Here’s what I’ve got so far:


  1. Yes to tradition.  Since my kids were teenies, we have celebrated the first day of snow with hot chocolate and buttered toast. Now that some of them are older, we also celebrate by meeting at one of our favorite restaurants for hot buttered rum. These are gifts of snow and relationship. They are gifts of  our history, but they are tied to the white stuff and so I am thankful for it.
  2. Yes to gratitude. Nothing makes my house feel warmer inside, than snow on the outside. I will light a fire in the wood stove and be thankful for shelter.
  3. Yes to memories. It’s tempting right now to keep tender memories of life with Steve buried out of reach and out of touch. I would focus entirely on moving forward if I thought I could get away with it.  But I know I can’t. I know grief is sneaky –   it doesn’t just stay where we put it because we tell it to.  I’m trying to learn to leverage the moments where his absence is most profound and poignant to fully feel and express what I’m feeling to the only One who is able to walk me through those waves of sorrow. This first snow without Steve is a chance to feel his absence from another angle. The kids and I will tell stories about him loving foul weather and we’ll laugh and clink our hot chocolate mugs to his memory.  And I will say Yes to the memories and the bittersweet work they do in my soul.



UPDATE 11/30/15:  This is Day 7 of Snowpocalypse.  The snow fell and fell and fell (a foot and a half!)  along with the temperatures, which means:  it’s STILL HERE.  What we have now is a tangled mess of icy snarls on the roads.  I’m glad I wrote this before it came, because I had to remind myself of my Yes decision about four hundred times:  As I shoveled and scraped, as I braved the mountain pass to go to an important family event, as one car’s door locks froze and refused to budge, as I rescued Tori from the hospital parking lot where her little car hunkered down for the duration.


I didn’t live my Yes as perfectly as I had planned it.  There were moments of fist-shaking and sigh-making, but I DID, I’m happy to say, do better than I would have otherwise.  I embraced the adventure of the crazy Bend streets and the way our city comes together during storms.  I was overcome with gratitude for my car and it’s scrappy, gutsy snow faring ways.  I bought snow tires – a decision I had been on the fence about, but I’m so glad I did it.  I drank a lot of hot chocolate with my kids and watched about a million Thanksgiving episodes of sitcoms.


And finally, I took a late-night walk in the falling snow and had a little talk with Steve.  I thanked him for teaching me to love all kinds of weather.  I thanked him for all those years of shoveling with not a single complaint.  I told him I missed him quite desperately, but was doing pretty well considering I’m just a girl with the shakiest-possible Yes.  And in that pretty, white dream of a night, Steve’s smiles fell soft all around me, glistening and glimmering, and I scooped them up and tucked them away for the next Yes.


Yes to tradition.  Yes to gratitude.  Yes to memories.


Thank you, Snow.


With hope,





November 30, 2015 - 10:22 am

Jalet - Bo and family,
I know you are not brave by nature, but default. I love that your yes is shakey, but persistent. I love that you refuse to let a well deserved grief, overwhelm and bury your snowplow of yes. I love that beauty is sought, not overlooked, impounded or refused, for fear of more grief. I am strengthened by your honest ache, and softend by your wanting to let grief be your partner in growth, not your drowning anchor.
I praise the one who guides your heart to healing and fullness and his ever present, heart-holding, for your understandably lonely empty. Again, your transparency in navigating, is a truth that brings life. Thank you.

Praying for the Hot Chocolate moments in the icey world of brakng and steering tenuously, in the art of grief you navigate.
Jesus, Be Thou Their Vision oh Lord of their hearts.

November 30, 2015 - 1:49 pm

evy - LOVE this…. funny enough, I said YES to snow a few days ago too….and while I have always loved LOOKING at it, I don’t like driving in it-at all! However, this is my yes year too, though I haven’t ever had a yes-to-snow year before 🙂 Yay for both of us, but praying for your heart through your losses that bring you to needing to say yes to it for completely different reasons than mine 🙂



November 30, 2015 - 5:06 pm

Heidi Rowles Friesen - Tears… this one brought tears to my eyes. I read your blog religiously but today I let myself feel all the feels that this one brings. Growing up in Bend Oregon seems to beget snow as being an integral and intimate part of life, and reading this is bringing out the ways that I let seasons dictate my responses to situations. But not after reading this. Today I am going to choose to respond in joy, in gratitude, and in hope that seasons come and go, just like Snowpacolypse will certainly melt into some sort of sludgy, sunshiney January and then March and then June. It too will be a memory to be savored. So instead of bemoaning the early darkness and bitter cold and heaps of stress that come with this season, I am going to choose to find ways that I can love it. Thank you so much for posting the before and the after. I needed this one.

December 1, 2015 - 6:42 pm

jane Wililams - … Bo, I’m just a little tired of you making me cry. 🙂 (SOOO kidding!) Because down deep in my heart of hearts I am so grateful for the tears your words fashion so well. Tears that bring the cleansing reminder of Life, Love and a satisfied soul. (Not to mention hope and courage!) Once again, as always, thank you.

December 4, 2015 - 8:35 pm

Jewl - You write beautifully!