The rain pounds down on the red, gritty earth and forms tiny rivers that push outward and seek outlet in some dry crevice. The weight of the sky hangs heavy and cold and shrouds the barren branches. The temperature drops and the rain turns to snow. A junco shivers and fluffs its feathers, his cheery song turned into a muffled chirp by the dismal day.
I wait in the desert for spring.
When the cadence of the rain that fell months before will unlock untold wonders from the earth. Just as every winter wears a different face, so spring reveals a different glory. Some years, the verbenas carpet the earth in a vibrant splash of lavender and green. Other years, the verbenas stay silent and the cacti burst forth in raucous colors.
The past year has pounded around me, forming river-like problems that raced wildly around my mind. The worries weighed like wet snow and my voice felt muffled and unsure at times as I navigated uncharted waters and came alongside a frightened, hurting friend. How long would the winter last, I wondered?
I wait in the desert for spring.
I know without a doubt that the time of pain, sorrow and distraction will bear its fruit when the time comes. I know the Father orchestrates the hidden life of hearts and souls the way he orchestrates buried seeds, grains of sand and drops of rain. (tweet this) And when all things work together for his good, spring will arrive.
It will never look just like a previous spring—because he shapes each spring according to his purpose. (tweet this) But I know without a doubt that I am to wait.
Spring will come.
