I sit in front of the window on yet another freezing cold Michigan morning. Snow lies thick and deep outside, as it has done for weeks, stretching as far as the eye can see, and covering the ground in a blanket of white. Winter is not yet ready to release her grip, and the shovel and snow blower stand at the ready.
But underneath that icy blanket, hidden deep in cold and dark, hope is living. She is simply asleep, waiting for her cue. And when the time is right, when she feels that little bit of warmth that whispers Spring, she will push her way through the dark and out into the light.
And she will not be alone.
When the snow is still melting, and the grass is beginning to reclaim her green, thousands of little shoots will rise. Like the advance of an invincible army, they will bravely break the soil, and daffodils and tulips will stand together and dance in the wind. And although it’s hard to imagine that now, it will surely happen. They are just waiting for their time.
And where would be the surprise of Spring without the weariness of Winter?
Where would be the beauty of the butterfly without the cold of the chrysalis?
Where would be the reality of resurrection without the grip of the grave?
And so we wait.
But we wait in hope. New life is on the way.