Cutting Snowflakes

Last night I was cutting out snowflakes to garland my room with wintery wonder and having a fabulous time. My print quota has been making itself twice as useful, as I have recycled all the unneeded papers from my classes this semester; there's something cathartic about cutting up homework. ("HA! take THAT you beastly little reflection paper!" get the idea.)
I follow the standard method of snowflake cutting, folding a neat triangle, then cutting out little bits and designs. There might be some people who can visualize what the end product is going to look like once it's unfolded, but, my mind doesn't work like that, so I cut at random and look forward to the surprise at the unfolding.
So I sat at my desk at midnight, folding and cutting and unfolding and then, as often happens at midnight when I'm still awake, I started thinking.
Life is sometimes like being a paper snowflake. God holds the scissors and shapes and trims; he knows exactly what the finished product is gonna look like. We just have to wait for the surprise at the unfolding. 
Its hardly a perfect analogy; someone with a better mind for theology could probably blow holes in my lacy little snowflake idea. But its this sort of picture that gives me comfort when I see nothing but unknowns ahead of me.

Fold upon fold
No one knows what you hold.
Each cut in its place
Adds new dimensions of Grace.
A snowflake surprise.

(poem based off blogging friend Jonathan Creasy's fascinating experiment with form that he calls scarlequain, click the link to read more about it and check out his blog.)

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