Winter again. It's as if my entire universe is frozen over, snow-capped mountaintops and desolate ice-glazed fields. No fruit in sight, no life sprouting up to usher in spring. At least not above the surface of my soul.
If only seasons of our life were like seasons of the year, with a definitive beginning and end. Then at least hope would be more apparent. But there's no winter or summer solstice in the seasons of my soul. It seems as though time doesn't exist in this dimension...only it does. But perhaps I haven't learned to read it yet. Though there is one who can, for he designed this season for a purpose. He is the Author and I am the pen in his hand. The story's already told in His mind, complete and whole. Lacking nothing.
And I...I'm watching it unfold before my eyes, in the darkest of places I am being fashioned into a new creation and clinging to the promise of a happy ending.
©2012 by Elaine Glover
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