Deacon Jude Tam Tran

A SNOWFLAKE

“I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” — Psalm 139:14
“He hath made everything beautiful in his time.” — Ecclesiastes 3:11

Do you remember the first time someone told you, with great authority and a chalk-stained sleeve, especially when you were in high school “No two snowflakes are alike?” It was said the way adults say things when they want you to stop asking questions. Of course, that only made you ask more. Really? Not even twins? Not even cousins? Not even two snowflakes that grew up in the same cloud and went to the same school?

So, you should hear a story—about a snowflake named Fred.

Fred began his life not as anything impressive, but as a tiny whisper of water vapor floating lazily inside a cloud. This cloud wasn’t dramatic or majestic; it was basically a giant, moody gathering of floating water particles bumping into each other like shoppers in a crowded mall.

Up there, water vapor is everywhere, waiting. Waiting for the temperature to drop. Waiting for just the right moment.

Then it happened. The temperature slipped below zero degrees Celsius (32°F), and suddenly the water vapor made a decision: Ice it is. Fred crystallized.

Now here’s where things get interesting. Fred didn’t form alone. He needed a starting point, a tiny speck to cling to—maybe a grain of dirt, maybe a bit of pollen, maybe even a speck of dust that had once drifted through outer space. (Yes, space. Fred might technically be part stardust. Try not to be jealous.) Around that speck, ice molecules locked arms in neat, hexagonal patterns.

Order appeared out of chaos.

Fred was officially an ice crystal.

But Fred wasn’t done growing. As he drifted inside the cloud, he bumped into other ice crystals, each with their own stories and specks of dust. Some days—well, moments—were humid, others dry. Some were colder, some just cold enough. Every change added a curve here, a branch there.
Eventually, Fred became part of a snowflake made up of dozens of crystals—maybe two, maybe two hundred—clinging together like an awkward group project.

Then came the fall.

Fred began drifting toward the ground at a gentle pace—about 11 feet per minute. That’s slower than a turtle with a lunch break. But this slow fall mattered. As Fred descended, he passed through layers of air with different temperatures and humidity levels. Each layer left its mark. A little more growth on one side. A slight melt on another. A tiny redesign that no one else would get in quite the same way.

No two snowflakes fall through the exact same path. No two experience the same conditions in the same order. And that’s why, when Fred finally landed—on the sleeve of a kid late for school—he was completely, undeniably himself.

Scientists love this part. They’ll tell you that in theory, identical snowflakes could exist. But in practice? The number of possible variations is so enormous that it’s basically impossible. The atmosphere is too complex. The conditions too specific. The journey too personal.

In other words, “No two snowflakes are alike” may not be a mathematical guarantee—but it’s a truth you can live by.

And here’s where the story sneaks up on us.

Because the same God who designed the laws of temperature, humidity, and molecular bonding also designed you.

The Bible says in Psalm 139:14, “I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Not mass-produced. Not copied and pasted. Wonderfully made. Carefully formed.

Just like Fred.

Your life, like a snowflake’s, is shaped by moments you didn’t choose: where you were born, the family you landed in, the “weather” of circumstances around you. Some seasons were warm and encouraging. Others were cold and sharp. Every layer left a mark. Every experience added detail.

And here’s the wisdom in it: God’s order doesn’t require sameness.

We live in a world that loves templates—be like this, sound like that, succeed by this age, look this way. But God seems perfectly comfortable creating billions of snowflakes and never repeating Himself. He delights in variety. He works through process. He allows time and journey to shape beauty.

Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, “He hath made everything beautiful in his time.” Not rushed. Not compared. In its time.

Fred didn’t need to hurry. Falling slowly was part of the design. And maybe that’s something we need to hear too. Your pace, your path, your shape—these are not mistakes. They’re the result of a wise Designer who understands how growth really works.

So, the next time snow falls, catch a flake if you can. Look at it closely before it melts away.

Remember Fred. Remember that order doesn’t mean boring, and uniqueness doesn’t mean accidental. And remember this: in a world of billions, God still makes room for individuals—each shaped by a journey no one else could repeat.

And that is a truth worth holding onto—long after the snow melts. ❄️