The word weaves around my heart with the Word the way the wind plays with my hair. Even so, it just occurred to me that, yes, of course! We are in the season of new, of re-new-al. Spring, which comes in low rumbles, between buckets of rain and sunshine, the growing pains of the year.
A recovering from winter. Being again covered in joy, letting grief slip away over the waters once ice now weaving steadily threads of life and abundance, shining with gloriously piercing pieces of sunlight, the way lake-ice cannot reflect. The threads spill over the dam and pull time along and I must let that one crinkled beech leaf sail bobbingly away down the tiny stream to its future and turn to mine.
The old ways of fear must die--the fears that strike in winter, when we are cold and lonely, hiding inside. Relinquish the white-knuckled grip on the threads of time, of life, that will only leave painful, rope-burns as they pull away.
When we hold our lives tight, we really only strangle ourselves, push our seedlings back into the dark ground, overshadowing, hiding the light. Let spring come. Let Him come near.
I speak to myself, mostly. Draw near, for He is faithful. Don't neglect meeting together--stop hiding. Encourage. He will make a way. Trust.
I pray for everyday Spring: to be remade, renewed, restored, redeemed.
For I need it.
For I need it.
But I trust in You, O Lord;
I say, "You are my God,"
my times are in Your hand.