First Snow

It's strange for a California girl to call a snowy world home, but this morning I awoke to a light dusting of white powder on trees and cars and raked leaves.  At work, I admired the snowflakes dancing between the high rise office buildings from our fourteenth floor vantage.  When I abandoned the shelter of the Eastern Market metro station for my twenty-minute walk home, I rolled up my suit pants, thanked God for my snow boots, wrapped my scarf around my head and hid under my umbrella.

Though this first snow rings in the beginning of a colder winter than I have ever experienced, I adore it.  I adore the fresh boot prints I leave behind—boot prints that are quickly filled in with a white fluff working to make all things fresh and new.  The brightly-painted row houses are muted to pale reds and blues and greens and yellows in the street-lit evening.  They seem to glow, as if on the set of an old Christmas movie, perfectly placed trees—with snowy leaves still clinging to autumn—bring drama to the scene.

Across the street from my boot-print path, an ancient, grey-stone Episcopal church stands regally as the snow flirts around the white lights in the courtyard, caking the bushes and leafless trees with a layer of thick frosting.

Despite the cold, this walk home through the first snow of the season ranks as one of my favorite Washington, DC, moments; I was easily taken in by the magic of snowfall.

Safely home, the snowflakes outside my window thicken and sparkle, further whitening my new Capitol Hill neighborhood.  A sight of new beginnings.  My roommate Kate and I moved last Saturday into our two-story, three-bedroom row house, yellow with a red door and an adorable backyard where we plan to grow a vegetable and herb garden in Spring.  We loved my cousin's house in Maryland where we've been house sitting, but this is a place of more permanence.  Our home for at least a year.

It truly is a time of new beginnings—I never dreamed I'd live in Washington, DC, but now that I'm here, I can't dream of being anywhere else in this time of my life.  The organization I work for—International Justice Mission ( www.ijm.org)—has a lot to do with it.  IJM is a human rights organization that works like a law firm, seeking rescue, restoration and justice in third-world countries for victims of violent oppression.  Fighting to change flawed public justice systems that do not work for the poor.

While my actual job running the reception desk is not glamorous, I still feel a part of the mission.  To participate in any capacity is an honor to me, and I do enjoy the tasks—I get to talk to people all day, and I ensure the details of the front office run smoothly.  I know it contributes to the work of seeking justice for trafficked children forced to work as prostitutes, families bonded as slaves for generations in back-breaking brick kilns, and widows and orphans whose rightful land has been wrenched from their hands by more powerful relatives and neighbors.

These people, while their quality of life has been horrific, are valuable.  The beauty outside my window reminds me of that—God's creation is gorgeous.  I see it in the glory of nature and in the faces of people around me and of friends far away.  I think of IJM's clients and I am grateful to be where I am—to have the opportunity to hear and pray every morning about raids, rescues and prosecutions happening all over the world.  To learn of modern-day slaves finding freedom and victory, and to work with people I consider true heroes.

I don't know what's next in my life, but I'm using this time to be open and learn about everything that inspires me—including the Foreign Service, which is still a future option.  For now, I am thrilled to be at IJM, and I hope to stay with the organization a long time.  After about three months of working there, I feel at home, I've grown more professionally than in any previous job, and I'm hopeful I will someday get to be more hands-on involved in seeking justice with IJM.  Did I mention I wear a suit every day?

While I feel nostalgic about Africa and long to live there again, I know I am where I need to be in this stage of life.  I am grateful to be here now.