There are some who will laugh right out loud when you tell them that you are leaving the ocean beaches and Pacific rain forest to venture into a frozen wasteland.  And I get it.

The cold wind is hard, blowing eaves from rooftops. Faces are frosted between toques and scarves. The minivan needs plugging in and the windows need scraping and sometimes retrieving the mail, that that brave postman just delivered, is just a bit too daunting.

There was a time, after a Jonah day with children, when a friend sent words through the email reminding me that the mercies are new every morning.  And these truth words couldn't be more evident than when I round the bottom of the stairs and look through the frame of the still curtainless window and see the faithfulness of a prairie sky cheering me on.