Letting Go

Last weekend, I got to go up to mountains and play in the snow.  While the guys engaged in a snowball fight and the kids went sledding down the hill, I decided to put most of my energy into building a snowman.

I’ve never been particularly good at making snowmen.  This should come as no surprise, since as a Southern California resident, the most I am exposed to the element of snow in any given year is usually no more than a day or two.  However, for some reason this weekend, I was determined.  I got a clump of snow and just started rolling it.  Before I knew it, the small clump of snow that began no bigger than my two hands clasped together had rolled into this giant ball that took three of us to effectively push uphill.

Now I apologize to those of you who have grown up around a lot of snow, but to me, this whole concept of the snowball was amazing.  It started out so easy and took almost no effort, but as I rolled and it gathered more snow, I began to sweat underneath the weight of it.  It was almost counter-intuitive, because as I expelled more and more energy into moving this giant ball of ice, it became harder and harder to budge.

I learned this weekend that my strength is no match for snowballs.  I could be the strongest person in the world, and while that may yield a bigger snowball than your average person can make, the snowball would still eventually beat me.

When it comes to snowballs, or to problems that spiral out of our control, the very strength that we think we are using to help us ends up being the main cause of the problem we are trying to eradicate.  Sometimes you just have to let the snowball go.