I want to talk about something very dear to my heart: SNOW.

I hope this note finds you warm, blessed, and preferably indoors, because I want to talk about something very dear to my heart: snow. Yes, that fluffy, glistening, slightly mischievous gift from heaven that transforms even the grumpiest of landscapes into something magical. And it is coming down right now—I can see it through the window as I type. I absolutely love snow. Always have. There’s something about those first flakes drifting down—quiet, effortless, unhurried—that makes the world seem to pause for a holy moment.

Every time I watch snow falling, I’m reminded of the Lord’s promise in Isaiah 1:18, that He has washed us “white as snow.” God chose snow—something so simple, so delicate, so pure—to illustrate the depth of His forgiveness. And interestingly, something so rare in the Middle East, where the Bible originated. The inhabitants of Jerusalem, I’m sure, appreciated seeing the uncommon snow more than I can even imagine, growing up in a region where snow is frequent in the winter.

Snow doesn’t just cover things; it transforms the way we see everything beneath it. Even the ugliest ground looks redeemed under a fresh snowfall. And let’s be honest—some of our lives, at times, look like those parking lots in late February: gray, uneven, and containing mysterious lumps we don’t want to investigate. Yet the Lord covers us with His grace and renews us, not with a thin dusting but with a complete, bright, undeniable blanket of mercy.

Now, as much as I love this winter wonderland, I have to also acknowledge the other side of snow—you know, the side that feels more like a practical joke heaven keeps playing on humanity. There’s the shoveling of sidewalks, for starters. I’m convinced this must be a form of CrossFit created before CrossFit existed. Then there’s the slipping on ice, which turns even the most dignified among us into reluctant figure skaters. And of course, we cannot forget the mountainous piles of dirty snow in parking lots—the ones that start out white and holy but eventually resemble the aftermath of a snowball fight between angels and construction trucks.

Yet somehow, even with all of that, I still love it.

Snow also makes me think about Shabbat. Snow has a way of quieting the world—muting the noise, slowing the pace, forcing everything into a kind of sacred stillness. Shabbat does the same for our souls. Just as snow settles over the earth, Shabbat settles over our spirit, reminding us to breathe, to rest, to remember who we are and Who He is. Snow hushes the chaos of nature; Shabbat hushes the chaos inside us. Snow says, “Stop striving—I’ve already covered this.” Shabbat says, “Stop striving—God is enough.” What a gift that the Creator who commands the storms also commands us to rest.

So today, in the middle of snowflakes and schedules, I want to ask you for something important: your prayers. I have a significant meeting—a mediated conversation with someone. I won’t go into details, but I’m asking the Lord for transparency, integrity, and, if possible, true resolution and reconciliation. Please pray that God’s peace, wisdom, and presence fill the room—and fill my heart as well.

Thank you for being part of my journey. Your prayers and encouragement mean more than you know. May your week be filled with the peace of Shabbat, the purity of fresh snow, and the joy of knowing that God is always at work—sometimes quietly, sometimes inconveniently, but always faithfully.

Blessings and warmth,

Dr. Ron Cantor

Director, Messiah's Mandate