We must have had some fog the previous night because
we woke to a frosty world on Saturday morning. The rays of sunlight refracting
from every tiny ice crystal transformed even the homeliest, dried-up old weed
into a sparkling wonder, as if a large, unseen hand had sprinkled diamond dust
everywhere.
When I was doing chores, my eyes were drawn to last
summer’s sunflower skeletons. Although my flower beds look rather messy in the
winter, I leave most of the freeze-dried flowers standing until spring. My
semi-scientific reason: I read once that decaying roots, with their companion
fungi, are a boon to soil health. I also leave them there as proof that winters—no
matter how long, dark, and frigid—always pass, and summers always come.
There’s a waitress in town that reminds me of
this picture. Customers are understandably underwhelmed by her cold countenance
and prickly personality. But I can’t help but wonder what kind of long, dark,
frigid winter her soul has endured. How many of her hopes have died? What storms
have swept through her life, drying her dreams and icing up her heart? Jesus, give her spring and summer, I pray.
“Turn and answer me, O Lord my God!
Restore the sparkle to my eyes, or I will die.” –PSALM 13:3
(NLT)
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