This morning, a wonderful topic presented itself, and yet I stood freezing beside it, capturing the photo and writing this story.
I caught sight of the very first snowdrop of the year. For days, I had been thinking about it, sensing it, knowing it was bound to arrive—even though the cold lingered. Morning frost painted icy flowers on windows, and there was no sign of snowdrops peeking out from the earth.
But this Saturday morning felt different. I woke earlier than I usually do on Saturdays, stirred by a fresh energy. If it weren’t mid-January, I might have called it springtime vibes.
Quietly, so as not to wake my sleeping family, I crept down to the basement and began pulling out carefully packed cardboard boxes. I didn’t have to think; my instincts guided me. For weeks, I’d been planning to declutter—to sort through our belongings, get rid of the things weighing us down, the items taking up space and disrupting the flow of our home. During the long winter months, it felt as though objects, memories, and “just-in-case” clutter were creeping out from every corner, claiming the space we call home—the space where we’re supposed to breathe freely and feel happy.
This morning, I started. No second-guessing, no hesitation. Over the weeks, I had mentally cataloged everything: what was out of place, what was unnecessary, what was holding us back. The action had been waiting for the right moment, though I hadn’t realized why.
As dawn broke, boxes filled quickly. The light in the house grew brighter, as did the feeling within me. It was as though a gentle spring breeze had swept through the curtains. I carried the boxes to the garage, one by one.
And as I climbed back up the garden steps, relieved and lightened, I saw them. The first snowdrops of the year.
Even though thick gray clouds still veiled the sun, the snowdrops shone brilliantly amidst dried leaves and frosted grass.
Every year, the sight of snowdrops sparks a buzz on social media. Photos flood timelines, accompanied by debates: It’s too early! Climate change! Everything’s out of balance! How can there be snowdrops in January?
As if we could dictate to the snowdrops when they should bloom. As if we could command nature to follow our rules.
For a while now, I’ve tried to respond to situations with three simple questions:
Is this my business?
Is this someone else’s business?
Or is this God’s business?
If it’s my business, I take action. If it’s someone else’s, I’ll step in only if asked and if I can do so without harm. If it’s God’s business, I can pray and be grateful.
Nature doesn’t care that it’s January. It doesn’t care what we think should or shouldn’t happen in this month. Instead of trying—futilely—to dictate to the snowdrops when they should bloom, perhaps we could focus on acceptance. On joy.
We could try tuning into nature again, remembering the rhythms we once lived in harmony with and understood so well. We could reconnect, align ourselves, observe, and heal.
Perhaps then we’d realize this: Nature renews itself, thrives, and maintains its order with or without us. But without nature, we have no chance of survival.