Hoarfrost

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's not the harshness of winter's refining. I'm hoping after the spring. Crying for hope to emerge, for new life to start. Aching for fresh beginnings. Because endings have been many. And I'm ready to feel alive again when everything inside me feels like something died. I'm hanging low like the tree-limbs, pressed down by sorrow's hold. 

It's strange how this thing called grief runs its course. Initially, one feels like they cannot be consoled. Emotions run freely as everything carries with it a reminder of what is over, of who is gone. Tears constantly flow as one wishes they could hear that voice one more time, wishes they could wind back time and pretend it's all just not true. In the weeks and months that follow, the waves of emotion space out a bit and often come differently than before. Deep darkness descends as one feels bewildered and lost in the wake of what has happened. The mind refuses to function with its usual clarity. Mistakes not normally made became frequent as forgetfulness and brain-fog are constants. Faith feels sometimes to take a vacation, too. Doubt visits often in faith's absence. All one can think about is that the person one loved is gone. Great emptiness settles in as one gazes as the void and wonders if one can go on. 

Through ice-bordered glass panes, I notice the hoarfrost is doubling almost daily the longer the cold snap lasts. And I feel like there are times when the grief appears to grow exponentially as well. Days or weeks where, by the hour, hopelessness seems a more and more viable option and belief less so. But there's also a beauty to this cold - the snow sparkles with crystals of diamond-glow as lights hits them just right. Sun peaks around the mountain, touching white trees which shimmer in its beams. There is something gorgeous to be discovered here, if only I'll look. 

This, my winter season, which followed my summer's parch, still holds it's own miracle. 

Mind reminds itself that soon, the daylight will be longer. That, in a few weeks from now, flower-color will peep up through the snow, a sign that what's been dormant will rise again. And just maybe, in time, my heart can do the same?