Winter's Arrival

 Snow crystals sparkle as the sunlight hits them gently, speaking of cold-beauty hanging on the now-dead branches as winter sets in. A leaf now dead hangs limply as if to signify that what was once alive has gone dormant. A new season has been ushered in. And I am its witness. 

It occurs to me as I stare at this white wonderland that there are light angles which can only be seen when it is winter. As the daylight hours are limited and there is more darkness than light for these months, somehow I seem to find a treasure in them all its own because I discover things I can't see when the weather is convenient and the season speaks of forever sunlight and all things warmth and green. 

Can't it also be said of the soul that one cannot discover certain things, cannot see certain truths, without the hard seasons of the soul? That, like this branch, my soul must go through a dying period before I can know the hope of the heart-spring when all is made to grow to fullness. Without the freeze, I cannot know, cannot appreciate the thaw. 

Camera in hand, I snap a reminder of this natural holy-moment. A capturing of this little window of time when God is speaking to my heart through the world He has made.

Somehow, I feel it deep: this image of the dormant that must proceed the coming forth. And isn't this true of all life? And the thought comes to me that I heard recently - that some seeds require being planted in the Fall, when most others are being harvested, so that they can have the winter to harden them properly before they germinate in Spring. Maybe some of us are the same? 

I am reminded of the fact that the Savior I follow made it clear that there is no coming alive without first a dying. Dying to self, to ambition, to reputation, to achievement, to money, to sex...to all the false gods that attempt to steal my heart. All the things that this world says offer hope but only lead to greater darkness. What my soul needs is the Light. 

The snow, fresh and clean-looking, brings to my mind that though my sins be ever so great, God's love, God's righteousness, still plead for me and wash me as clean as this whiteness upon the repenting of them.

If I refuse the changing of the seasons in my soul, if I fight this dying that must occur, I miss the hidden blessing of the lessons afforded me in a winter of the heart. I miss God showing up in the hard ways. Because He always does. Why else would He talk about the purifying of us being like the snowfall? 

Snow blankets the entire seen area. And I think of all the hidden, dormant life underneath that's just waiting for the awakening of spring in the months to come. And I look inside my own life and deep down, I trust that the same is true of my soul, also.