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Hoarfrost hangs heavy on trees as branches bow under the weight of winter's cold. It has been below zero for days now, freeze-deep penetrating into the earth with its icy grip. I look out through windows at the world of whiteness outside, snow symbolizing purity and I wonder if it's by winter's dark and winter's cold of soul that I'm purified also? 
Months ago, this same view lay baking in summer's hot. Record temps turning this same soil into a dryness, earth calling for water only He could give. With no rain and no relief from the heat in sight, I recall dreaming of when winter's coolness would arrive. And now that it has, I'm dreaming of when the dark will be over. Of when the cold will leave. 
Just maybe we often wish for a different season of the heart than the one we're actually in? Maybe we miss what's right here because we're craving something that has yet to be given? 
It's not the blaze of summer I'm longing for. And it'…

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