Just like the book by Laura Ingalls Wilder, it has been a long winter. Well, not just like it. We haven't had to twist wheat until are hands are raw to have something to burn in the fireplace. And we are not drinking wheat coffee. Was it wheat? I don't know...some kind of grain. The books are right here next to me on a shelf but I am too lazy to reach over and check my reference.
Usually winter lasts just long enough to the point where I am going to scream and then (cue "Hallelujah" chorus") spring bursts forth in all it glory. I cannot wait to see green grass and the leaves on the trees. I long for the site of snowy white Bradford pear trees and the green vine of yellow jessamine that wraps itself around our fence. I long for my my weary soul to be soothed by the blooms of the dogwood trees and the pink and red of my enormous azalea bushes.
I long for new life. And that is what spring brings. The reminder of our new life when we live in Christ and the promise of an eternal life with Him. Jesus didn't just die on the cross. He rose again. We have the hope of the Resurrection.
Come, season of Spring. Hurry so that I may rest more easily.
