Springtime is coming.
Even now, what once was dead, long dormant and sleeping, is bursting forth in resurrection. Restoration. Rescue. The flowers in Mom's garden are the only color I have seen in long months, a splash of light in what was before gray. The weeds haven't come yet, and new life is all that can be noticed now.
The birds are back. The chickadees and robins, they sing a new song, one that is new yet has been sung since time began. The winter sun shines at a sharper angle through the kitchen window, just so that you have to squint to read over your morning coffee. The branches are still visible, but growth is welling up on the inside, ready to spill forth and crown it's foundation in glory.
See, winter seasons are really important. You get down to the bare, raw, reality of things. You can see for miles, stretching your eyes in anticipation of how far you'll run. But things only die so that what is truly beautiful and lovely can come back to life.
...And that is what springtime is all about.
I ask that He resurrects in you new life and burns you so that you cannot, will not bloom for anyone else.
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