There’s something magical about the way children express themselves through art. They don’t calculate, overthink, or filter. They paint, draw, color, and create straight from the heart. So when HBU asked my children to contribute Christmas drawings this year, I was curious to see what their imaginations would choose.
And without discussing it, without influencing each other, both Aaron and Abigail drew the same thing: a snowman and a snow lady. Snow. In sunny Andalucía.
I laughed at first because snow is the last thing you see in most parts of southern Spain. But then I paused, because childhood art often reveals something deeper. Children draw what they desire, what they dream about, or what comforts them. And even though Aaron and Abi were only a toddler and a baby when we left North Dakota, something inside them remembers, or perhaps, something inside them *misses* the magic of snow.
North Dakota was where we experienced some of the most breathtakingly white, peaceful snowfalls. The kind that covered everything in silence, slowing the world down and filling it with wonder. The kind of snow that invites you to play, to imagine, and to build something as simple and beautiful as a snowman.
My children may not actively remember those years, but memories have a way of settling into the heart, just like snowflakes settling gently onto the earth.
Their drawings reminded me of something profound:
Even when life takes us far from where we started, we carry pieces of every place we’ve lived inside of us.
We carry memories.
We carry longings.
We carry beauty we’ve seen, even if only as little ones.
And yes, while the province of Granada does offer that magical winter wonderland (our son Aaron has been reminding us regularly that he wants to go back there to play in that snow!), our day-to-day lives in Andalucía is mostly warm, bright, and a world away from the blizzards we once knew. But maybe that contrast is part of the beauty.
We may not have snow on our doorstep anymore, but we have the spirit of Christmas; warm, vibrant, and full of life. We have traditions that connect us, neighbors who celebrate together, and lights that glow just as beautifully as any snowfall.
And still, my children drew snowmen. Their artwork reminded me that Christmas isn’t bound to a place. It’s not defined by weather. And it doesn’t lose its meaning because the climate changes. Because at the heart of it all; beneath the decorations, the lights, the memories, and even the dreams of snow. Christmas is about the birth of Jesus Christ. It is the celebration of hope entering the world. It is the reminder that light came down to meet us, no matter where we live, what we’ve experienced, or what we long for.
That truth doesn’t melt.
It doesn’t fade.
It stays.
So this year, as I hung up their drawings, a cheerful snowman and a graceful snow lady, I smiled. Not because we expect snow in Utrera this December. But because my children reminded me that we all carry a little bit of winter inside us somewhere:
a memory,
a moment,
a longing,
a tenderness.
And we also carry something even greater:
the promise of Christ’s birth,
the gift of new beginnings, and the hope that warms our hearts far more than any snowfall ever could. Sometimes the snow outside melts. But the snow inside us; and the Savior who came for us remains. And for me, that is the most beautiful Christmas gift of all.