Getting To

The wind howls, creeping up the spines of all who are unfortunate enough to be in her midst. And no one is. Not this early. Save one. Do you see her there, trudging along, breaking the path in the freshly-felled snow? Why! Just look at her! She’s not dressed for this weather! Is that? Yes. She’s still in her pajamas, with just a coat thrown on over top. No hat. No mittens. Not that they’ll do her any good. The cold water from the bucket’s sloshing to and fro—any mittens, should she have chosen to wear them, would be soaked straight through. And then frozen. Just like her hands appear to be now.

What is she doing out so early? And in this weather? Let’s take a closer look shall we? And see if we can figure it out.

Ah. I see now. She’s headed toward the barns. That explains the buckets. The chickens need to be fed and watered. Even in this weather. Especially in this weather.

But look at her! Oh, she doesn’t look happy about it. Her eyes keep wandering back to the house, all dark, where two little souls and a Farmer lie tucked in their warm beds.

“This is ridiculous,” she grumbles (yes, grumbles). “Why, I could be warm in my bed right now. Instead, I have to—”

She stops. Head tilted to the side, like she’s listening to something. Oh! I know that look! A small smile starts at her lips and it doesn’t stay there. Soon her whole face is shining. It’s just as I thought. She’s had a word from God. A reminder. She nods in answer and continues on her way, only now there’s a spring in her step. Now there’s a joy in her heart. Not a having to. A getting to.