The Seasons of the Soul

The Seasons of the Soul

I walked home from dropping our new little family member off at the bus stop this morning with my jacket wrapped tight around me. The days are getting shorter and the sun tags the moon much quicker than what we’d like. The flowers that were vibrant and full of life only a few months ago are losing their color and becoming tired. The leaves on the trees are holding onto the very last bit of green before they surrender to the colors of Fall.

Summer is slowly slipping away and Fall is riding in on the breeze.

I found myself whispering, “Thank you, Father,” for the very simplicity of the seasons changing this morning. His faithfulness is as steady and sure as the rising of the dawn. I am confident of His coming to me just as the sure signs of the Fall. There is great comfort in knowing that seasons end and a new one begins.

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The Year of Spring

The Year of Spring

It’s the middle of winter.

The mornings are cold, really cold, and it takes as much bravery to run across the tile in the bathroom floor as it does getting out of bed. My hands cup hot coffee several times a day and I feel it’s warmth run all the way down to my toes. Our coats stay laid across the top of the chair in the living room for easy access, so I can grab them as we head out the door. A different hue of grey is the sky I see most days when I glance out my window as I wash dishes. We can peek straight through the line of bare trees and overlook the brown pasture in our backyard. The days are short and darkness falls way before I’m ready to let go of the light.

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