Snow, Struggles & Sovereign Grace
Grace Reflections of Redemption
This Christmas season marks one year since the events written about in It Begins Here part 1 and the Rest of The Story occurred. In his own words, the man who was saved while serving as pastor, shares his reflections and feeling. It was an extraordinary Christmas with the highest of highs and deep lows, all compressed into a brief period of time. Please read, rejoice and praise our Creator for granting such an amazing salvation!
Tim
Snow, Struggles, & Sovereign Grace
Reflections of Redemption
By: N. A. Hinton
December 2024
It was the worst of times, and yet, it was the greatest of times. Yes, I borrowed that from Dickens, but perhaps he understood something universal about life—a thread that connects us all. Even in the darkest moments, when everything feels as though it’s unraveling, there are glimpses of hope. Like a single star piercing through the night sky’s canvas, these moments remind us that there is light ahead, guiding us through the tunnel of uncertainty.
For my wife and I, that quote seemed to resonate deeply one year ago this month. Yet before I dive into specifics I would like to share with you some back story. I grew up in southern Alabama, where snow was nothing more than a distant dream. For many, snow might be an inconvenience—a hassle to drive in or shovel—but for me, a southern boy who had never experienced living in a snowy place, it was pure magic. Fast forward to 2022, my wife and I moved to Idaho where I was to pastor a small rural church and when the temperatures began to drop in Idaho, I would check my phone obsessively, refreshing the weather app every few seconds, hoping to see snow in the forecast.
To say I was overly eager would be an understatement. I’d stand by the living room window, staring out, waiting for the first miraculous little snowflake to fall. The moment it did, I’d beam with excitement and shout, “It’s snowing!” My wife, who grew up in Chicago and was far more accustomed to snow, didn’t quite share my level of enthusiasm. But she graciously joined in, matching my energy, if only to humor me. Her smile in those moments made the snow feel even more special.
Our first winter in Idaho was nothing short of spectacular. Growing up in the South, I had never seen anything like it. Now, I found myself living on the side of a mountain, with a wood stove providing the coziest kind of warmth (the best kind, if you ask me). From my home, I had a stunning view of snow-capped mountains, and as the snow level gradually dropped hour by hour, I watched with childlike excitement, knowing it was inching closer to my backyard.
I have to say, though, chopping firewood for that wood stove was thrilling—until it wasn’t. That’s how I ended up almost slicing off my finger. It’s practically a rite of passage for every man learning the ropes, and I was no exception. My lesson came with six stitches on my left index finger. Explaining that to the burly mountain men who had spent their whole lives in those rugged hills was an experience in itself. The belly laughs that erupted as their pastor sheepishly recounted his near-miss were unforgettable. But those same men were incredibly gracious. They showed up the following day with bundles of kindling to make sure I could keep my fire going without risking another limb. The following year I didn’t take any chances, I bought several big rounds of kindling and wasn’t ashamed of it either.
Back to the snow! That first winter, I built my very first snowman, and let me tell you, it was thrilling. Admittedly, it was the ugliest snowman you’ve ever seen, but I didn’t care. For the first time, I was doing something I had only ever seen in movies. And there I was, in the mountains of northern Idaho, shaping snow into a snowman—no longer a dream or a scene from a film, but my reality. After finishing my “masterpiece,” I hurried inside to warm up by the wood stove and excitedly told my wife to look out the window. She laughed at the sight of my lopsided creation but was genuinely proud of me for making it. The snowman had all the basics: snow stacked up just right (sort of), coal for eyes, and two sticks for arms. However, he didn’t come to life like Frosty, but he was mine. Oh, I should mention—somehow, in the process of building that snowman, I managed to lose my wedding ring. We searched for months, combing through the yard and retracing my steps, but it never turned up. It’s probably still out there somewhere, buried beneath layers of snow or swallowed up by the earth. That little snowman left a lasting impression in more ways than one!
I smoked my first cigar and pipe during that winter, and it was nothing short of a ritualistic experience! Who knew that sitting outside with a pipe in hand, a book in my lap, and snow blanketing the ground could become such an unforgettable memory? The peace and stillness were unlike anything I had ever known. Snow has a way of silencing the world—it’s so quiet, so profoundly quiet—and yet, at the same time, it’s disruptive.
By disruptive, I mean it changes everything. It forces you to slow down, to adjust, to see the world differently. Roads close, routines shift, snowplows are attached to pickup trucks, snow shovels are brought up from the basement, salt is spread on the sidewalks, and so life takes on a new rhythm. But amidst that disruption, there’s a strange and beautiful calm. Sitting there, wrapped in the cold, with smoke curling from my pipe and snowflakes drifting down, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. It was a moment of stillness that seemed to reflect the very essence of winter—a season that demands pause and reflection.
With that, let’s fast forward to the first week of December 2023—a moment etched clearly in my memory. I was preaching one Sunday from the Gospel according to Matthew, and as I glanced through the front doors of the church, I could see all the way out to the parking lot. Snow had begun to fall, its soft descent captivating me for a brief moment. Though I didn’t pause my sermon to mention it, I know I had to have smiled, silently thanking God for the privilege of living in a place where the beauty of snow painted the winters.
That morning, I had checked the weather app and noticed a small chance of snow in the forecast. But by then, I had learned not to put too much stock in the predictions—those weather forecasters had a knack for getting my hopes up only to dash them. Snow wasn’t always as "in the forecast" as they claimed.
Yet, right in the middle of the sermon, the snow began to fall more steadily, a quiet marvel descending from the heavens. As soon as the service ended, I made my way to the front doors—not only to greet the parishioners but also to stand in awe of the snowfall. I watched the delicate flakes drift down, mesmerized by their beauty, each one unique, crafted by the very hand of God. In that moment, I was reminded of God’s sovereignty. Every snowflake, with its intricate, one-of-a-kind design, testifies to the Creator’s unmatched authority and attention to detail. It’s not just that God created these flakes—it’s that He ordained their every form, path, and purpose. The same God who governs the movement of the planets and holds the stars in place also directs the fall of each tiny piece of ice. Not one flake falls to the ground outside of His will.
This truth reflects so much more than creation; it reflects His sovereignty over all things. Just as He directs the snow, He directs every moment of our lives—both the peaceful and the stormy. Standing there, I couldn’t help but feel humbled and comforted. The God who rules over the snowfall is the same God who rules over my life, my ministry, and my circumstances. He is sovereign, and He is good.
Even though I thought I understood God’s sovereignty, I hadn’t fully grasped its depth—not yet. I had seen it in the grand scheme of things, in the big moments of life, but I was about to learn just how far-reaching and personal His sovereignty truly is. The snowflakes, as beautiful and intricate as they were, were a reminder of His control over every detail of creation—yet I hadn’t yet experienced how His sovereignty would touch my own life in a way that would humble me and bring me to a new level of understanding.
Soon, I would come to see that God's sovereignty isn’t just a theological concept to be admired from a distance, but a powerful reality that governs every moment, every circumstance, and every trial. What I thought I knew would soon be put to the test in ways that would challenge and shape my faith in the most profound ways. The peace and calm I had felt in that moment were soon to be interrupted, but through it, God’s sovereign hand would be more evident than ever before. Abraham Kuyper sums it up very well, “Oh, there is not one part of our world of thought that can be hermetically (fully) separated from the other parts; and there is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human life of which Christ, Who is Sovereign of all, does not cry: ‘Mine!’”
Jumping ahead one week to the second Sunday of December, the snow was still on the ground, and there was a skip in my step as I waltzed into my office. I was about to meet with a trusted friend, a true co-laborer in the ministry of the church where I was pastoring. We went over the order of service and were preparing to pray together when, at first, what seemed like a random story turned out to be a profound reminder of God's sovereignty in my life.
He shared with me the moving story of a woman who had been married to a prominent missionary. After many years of faithful service, the couple returned to the States. One Sunday, as she sat in a church service listening to her husband preach on what it means to be a true Christian, she was struck by a harsh reality: she realized she wasn’t a Christian at all. The truth hit her like a heavy weight, and after a deep conversation with her husband and much prayer, Yahweh God lifted the scales from her eyes. For the first time, she could see clearly, and the truth of God's Word broke through. God had saved her.
This story was powerful, and almost in an instant, I blurted out, “That’s what happened to me five weeks ago!” We just sat there, staring at one another, both of us with smiles on our faces, realizing the profound truth in that moment. My dear friend, with tears welling up in his eyes, said, “Praise the Lord!” The very same sovereign hand that had worked in that woman’s life had touched mine as well.
Now, you’re probably wondering, “What happened five weeks prior?” I’m glad you asked, and I’ll share briefly, though I’ve written my full testimony elsewhere. Five weeks earlier, I had experienced a radical awakening, a sudden and profound realization of my own spiritual condition—just as that lady had. I had spent my life thinking I understood the gospel, but God, in His sovereignty, opened my eyes to see the truth of His Word in a way I never had before. It was as though the scales had fallen from my own eyes, and I could see clearly for the first time, just as the woman in the story had. In fact I attribute the salvation that God gifted me as being able to see in color and not in black and white any longer.
I thought I was going through a “hard time” in early November but come to find out God was exposing sin in my life and convicting me of acting like a Christian when I was no Christian. The reality is, no matter how many times you have been to church or prayed the sinner’s prayer or been baptized those things do not save an individual. They have no power to save the sinner. Only Christ can save because only Christ defeated death, hell, and sin. We have no power in ourselves because, well, we are dead.
I must interject a few thoughts concerning salvation before moving on, First, salvation is God’s work in the life of an individual whom He has chosen from before the foundation of the world (Ephesians 1:4) and only God’s work. Yes there is human responsibility no doubt, but salvation from beginning to end is of God. Growing up in church does not aid in the conversion of your soul. Is it helpful? Absolutely. Christian parents ought to raise their children to be Christians not hellions. However, raising children to be Christians does not make them Christians. Reading the Bible does not make one a Christian. Tithing does not make one a Christian. Going to church, attending small groups, reading books by theologians, or agreeing with the Doctrines of Grace does not make one a Christian. I would think you get the point here – no action on your part makes you a Christian, because before you are converted you are dead (Ephesians 2:1). I hate to burst your bubble, but a dead person cannot do anything.
Secondly and lastly, the book of Jonah declares, “Salvation belongs to Yahweh” (Jonah 2:9), a profound reminder that salvation is entirely the work of God. It is long overdue for us to abandon the notion that we can take any credit for what only God can accomplish. No prayer, action, or work of man contributes to this divine act of redemption. God alone is the source of rescue and reconciliation, drawing us to Himself by His grace and for His glory. This truth should humble us and lead us to proclaim with confidence: Soli Deo Gloria! Salvation is God’s work from beginning to end. I used to believe that growing up in a Christian home, attending church, reading my Bible, saying a prayer at seven, going to Bible college, and even pastoring a church meant I must be saved. I thought God would see my works-based efforts and accept me. While I claimed to believe that God alone saves, my approach relied on external actions as evidence of salvation, which subtly but dangerously shaped my theology. Many, including myself, were and some are still blinded by this mindset. Now I see that my actions couldn’t save me. Again, Scripture is clear: salvation is authored by God alone, not by human effort.
Back to that second Sunday in December 2023, listening to my friend share the story of this missionary’s wife was a moment of clarity, it wasn’t random coincident he was sharing this testimony with me. It was God’s perfect timing. Through His sovereignty, He had orchestrated the events in my life to bring me to that moment of true repentance and faith five weeks prior but wouldn’t reveal to me that I was truly saved until those five weeks had passed. Just like the missionary’s wife, I was saved not by anything I had done, but by God's grace alone, in His timing, for His glory.
One of the most remarkable things about the revelation of God’s salvation in my soul was that it occurred while it was snowing. If you hadn’t picked up on it from the opening pages, I truly love the snow—there’s something so beautiful and serene about it. Yet, there’s also a reality that snow, while peaceful, is not only disruptive to our lives but can also be harsh. It piles up in unexpected ways, making travel difficult, creating a cold that penetrates deep, and sometimes shutting us off from the world for a time.
The early settlers who braved the wilderness of North America in the 17th and 18th centuries had to contend with the brutal winters that made survival a daily struggle. One such story is that of the early colonists in the Plymouth Colony, who arrived in 1620, with the hope of establishing a new life. However, they quickly encountered the unforgiving realities of a New England winter. By the time winter set in, the Pilgrims were already facing hardships—poor provisions, lack of shelter, and a harsh environment. The first winter was particularly devastating, with freezing temperatures and heavy snowfalls that made even basic tasks—like gathering firewood or hunting—extremely difficult. The settlers had to learn quickly how to survive in these conditions. It was a matter of life and death.
My wife and I were not going to experience death in this winter storm, but we were about to feel the effects of harshness and bitterness like we had never felt before. One specific prayer prayed during that time, repeated over and over, especially when the reality hit that God had saved me as a pastor, was that no one would take what is good and turn it into something bad. For there is nothing bad or ugly about the salvation of a soul.
In fact, celebration should be the response to such a discovery! When a lost soul is snatched from the spider’s web, saved from the endless depths of hell, and safely set in the arms of Jesus, it is a cause for great joy. Such excitement! Such victory! Jesus expressed it perfectly in Luke 15:8-10: “Or what woman, if she has ten silver coins and loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it? And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin which I had lost.’ In the same way, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” We are to join together in rejoicing with the one whom God has redeemed and caused to repent. For this is great news!
When I shared my testimony with several trusted men, it didn’t go over well. The accusations began to fly—lies and slander thrown at me and my wife by the very men who had once shown us grace. These were the same men who, just a year prior, had helped me with kindling, taken me out to breakfast, prayed with me, encouraged me, and assisted me with church services. They were the ones who had been there for me in so many ways. Yet, when I needed them the most, to come alongside me, mentor me, and provide accountability, they were the first to turn their backs. It was a crushing reality, one that left me questioning the very bonds of trust I had built with them. The snow wasn’t helping like it used to. It was a nuisance. The snow caused more frustration, the cold had turned bitter, and there were no snowmen built that winter. There was a fire in the woodstove but there was no heat.
My wife and I were deeply saddened. The relationships we had spent so much time building had crumbled. These people, in this little rural church, had become our family, but we were ousted so quickly. The sincerity we thought we had been shown now seemed shallow and fleeting. In hindsight, I realized that during my seventeen months as pastor, I had been unsaved and had behaved accordingly. I hadn’t pastored the way Paul instructed Timothy in 1 Timothy 3. Instead, I put on a performance in the pulpit, acting for the people rather than shepherding them with sincerity. I had no idea I was unsaved—after all, I had grown up in church, said a prayer when I was seven, and was baptized, so I assumed I was fine. But the truth was, I was far from it. I know the people in the church felt betrayed by me because they made it clear—explicitly.
I attempted to explain that I had been deceived and, in the process, had deceived others by claiming I was saved when I wasn’t. But again, I had no idea at the time. I didn’t become a pastor for the money for there was no money to be made from this little church. I really thought I had been called to be a pastor, yet much of it was ego driven. The reality, however, was that I was no longer credible to these people. They didn’t want to hear another word I had to say, and I came to that painful realization quickly. It was as if the trust had been completely shattered, and no matter how hard I tried to explain, the damage had been done.
Questions kept firing in my mind. Why did the realization of my salvation cause so much damage to those I had considered friends and family? Why were my wife and I kicked out of our home and church so quickly? Yet, amid the confusion and hurt, my wife and I had two constants—Yahweh God and our dear friends. My dear friend and his wife, who had shared the testimony of the missionary’s wife with us, never left our side. They continually brought warmth to us during that winter storm, offering support and comfort when it felt like everything around us was falling apart. Through it all, we could feel the presence of Yahweh, sustaining us with His grace, while our friends were a tangible reflection of His love.
The first winter in Idaho was a winter wonderland—snowmen, glistening window panes, and cozy fires in the fireplace. But the second winter was dark, cold, and felt like a nightmare we couldn’t wake up from. At first, the thought of facing another winter brought dread, with the fear of what monster might be lurking around the corner, ready to attack. Yet now, reflecting on what transpired a year ago, we see that God has always been sovereign. He providentially provided for us in ways we could never have imagined, revealing His faithfulness even in the hardest of times.
We no longer reside in the mountains of northern Idaho; we now live in the hills of Tennessee. There won’t be much snow here, though who knows—a blizzard could always surprise us. Yes, I’ve already checked the weather app multiple times since the temperature has dropped, hoping for a chance at a winter wonderland, but I’m doing my best not to get my hopes up so I’m not let down. Yet, this winter, I know without a shadow of a doubt that my God is in control. My life is not at all what I thought or had planned for it to be. We have friends now that I never would have imagined, and a church family that I didn’t know existed a year ago, but they have been so encouraging. My wife and I now look forward to going to church and worshiping our Creator God together. It’s amazing how God works, almost always in ways we never expect, but always for His glory and our good.
When God placed within me saving faith, I was told, “This changes everything.” Those words resonated deeply because they were true—everything in my life did change. My perspective, my priorities, my physical place in life, and even the way I understood God’s grace and salvation were turned upside down. I’m still finding things changing even a year later. What I had once seen as unshakable crumbled under the weight of conviction. Yet, even in that breaking, God’s hand was evident.
Just as every snowflake is uniquely crafted and directed, so is everyone’s path—and everything else’s path—sovereignly guided by God. Christ Jesus says, “And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith” (Matthew 6:28-30)?
I have heard it said, “Things cannot grow beneath the winter snow.” However, I cannot fully agree with such a statement. While it is true that the winter snow can snuff out many things, it can also be a season of immense growth. The trials of winter are not without purpose, and they can lead to great benefit. For my wife and me, this season taught us patience and deepened our reliance upon Yahweh. It is a truth we must continually keep at the forefront of our minds: “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing” (James 1:2-4).
Our God is a God of purpose. Every season of life—every twist, turn, trial, and moment of joy—is an opportunity to grow in faith and give praise to the One who sovereignly works all things for His glory and our good.
I conclude with these verses from the prophet Habakkuk, “Though the fig tree should not blossom and there be no produce on the vines, though the yield of the olive should fail and the fields yield no food, though the flock should be cut off from the fold and there be no cattle in the stalls, Yet I will exult in Yahweh; I will rejoice in the God of my salvation. Yahweh, the Lord, is my strength, and He has set my feet like hinds’ feet and makes me tread on my high places” (Hab. 3:17-19). Here is such a beautiful declaration of reliance upon Yahweh, even when circumstances are barren and difficult, those who have placed saving faith in Yahweh are met with the steadfast God who cares for His precious children even in the winter snow.
