Hoping with Snow on the Ground
making plans for winter's end.
There’s snow on the ground as I glance out the window. It’s two degrees outside but I pull my legs in close for warmth and pick up my pen. The seeds are laid out on the table, sorted by flower type. Snapdragons, zinnias, dahlias, bachelor’s buttons, larkspur, and more. The bare brown tree branches shake in the frigid wind. Are they laughing at my haste? Or maybe they’re shivering and dreaming with me of warmer days. Days where the sun lingers on my skin and their bark.
I begin to sketch out rectangles that only barely resemble the lay of our land. I add circles for pots that I’ll fill with dirt and seedlings. I dream of adding a new garden bed to our little yard. “Our neighbors won’t get mad if we put it near the fence will they?” I ask my husband. He gives me that look that tells me he’d rather not dig up the hard ground again but he will anyway, because he loves me. I also know that hidden in those blue eyes is a silent request that I not go overboard. I continue to sketch.
Soon I’ll take the ranunculus and anemones out of their hiding place and revive them. I’ll start snapdragon seedlings inside and nurse them when they inevitably struggle. Some of them will die; maybe most of them. The ranunculus roots will push down into the tray of dirt and as I place them in the cold February ground I’ll pray, God, may my roots stretch deeper and deeper like these. The snapdragons will develop new sets of leaves and I’ll praise the Lord. Thank you Lord, giver of new life and sustainer of my faith even in the winters of the soul. But even then, spring will remain elusive. I’ll watch snow fall on the street from the front window. I’ll take the dog outside as icy wind steals my breath.
But here inside my home will be reminders that it will come. It is coming. And it’s there that I find a picture of my greatest hope: Not only will the winters of my own soul come to an end, but this winter—not the season, but the death and sadness that surrounds us every day—will end too. Jesus is coming back.
Here’s the thing. I only have this hope because I am his. For many, life’s winter will never end. It will only get colder, darker. There will be no new life, only death. But not the death that brings relief; it is a death that never dies. But if you are in Christ, you gain life eternal. Like a hyacinth emerges in the spring, reaching for the sun, your soul will push up through the ground and reach for the Son on the last day. And he will pull you into glory, forever.
And so I pray, Come quickly, Lord. Come quickly.
ICYMI
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