Christopher's Journey: Sometimes it takes being lost to find yourself

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  "It's snowing!" Priscilla excitedly bounded down the stairs one morning.

  Chris had walked to the Browley farm and had just sat down with his first cup of coffee. Black, as he now grew accustom to taking it. "I smelled the snow on my way in. I knew it was coming." he said to her with a smile.

  "I know I'm almost ten years old, but I can't help but want to go roll about in it." Priscilla stated. "I hope it sticks."

  "We'll get plenty more before you know it." Mrs. Browley said as she cut thin slices of bread, dipping them into egg and placing them into a scorching pan. The room immediately filled with the fragrance as the saturated bread began to sizzle and crack.

  "You men better get out and get the animals tended to, breakfast will be ready momentarily. George, would you mind bringing in a jug of fresh milk for breakfast. There's nothing like fresh, warm milk on a cold, snowy morning."

  Mr. Browley nodded with a flash of a grin, sucked down the remainder of his coffee and headed toward the door. "Mason? Let's get a move on."

  Mason came trudging down the stairs not looking quite as chipper as Priscilla had, slipped on his boots and followed his father out the door.

  "The coffee is wonderful this morning, Mrs. Browley." Chris stated raising to his feet.

  "Thank you Chris, Mrs. Pike brought me some vanilla that she had purchased on her trip to Branson. I perked the coffee with it. I haven't had a cup yet but did take a sip of Mr. Browley's. It wasn't bad, if I say so myself." She replied with a grin.

  He threw her an appreciative nod and headed out the door. Even though he'd been in the warm house for only a moment, the cold air hit and shocked him as if he'd just crawled out of bed. The bare fields in the distance were glittering with the early morning frost as the large, gentle snowflakes floated down from the sky.

  Chris had the urge to run around the yard trying to catch them on his tongue but thought better. He remembered doing that as a child when he'd walk himself to school. He never had a hat or mittens or even a warm coat, so he had to distract himself from the cold. He recalled being relieved when he'd step foot into the school. Not to go greet dozens of friends, not to show off his completed, well done homework to the teacher, not to scarf down a complete breakfast, but to simply get warm. The warmth he remembered was not as he was experiencing in the Browley home, however. The heat of his time was forced air from a furnace which sufficed, but the heat from stoves and fireplaces penetrated him to his bone and made him feel cozier than he'd ever felt.

  He figured it was the different type of heat, but the cozy feeling he felt inside was deeper. It came from the acceptance of a wonderful family, the love of an amazing young woman and the new person that seemed to daily emerge from himself. The person that appreciated life, now and the person that seemed full of spirit, grace and hope.