It's winter.

The storms have begun to swirl around me, driving me to my knees, forcing me to dig my roots deeper into Him. At first, I didn't recognize them for what they were: opportunities to grow closer to Him. I was so frightened and my first impulse was to run away. But my roots are holding. Long years of Bible study and prayer have established a stronghold, and the winds can not wrench me from His arms.

When they speak of the "dead of winter" they are wrong. For within me there is a spark of life. My roots are taking sustenance from Him, drinking deeply of His Living Water. My branches reach upward in praise, even now a silent testimony, if you will but hear. And I am resting. For that is what winter is all about. There are still songs in the winter. They are just different, more subdued. There is still light in the winter, only it is gentle. And while you may not rest in my shade or partake of my fruit, you may still lean against me if you will. I am not dead, only dormant.

I am waiting. Waiting for the storms to end. Waiting for the breath of spring. Waiting for the buds, and hoping for the next fruitful season. Believing He is working out His purpose in His time. It may be winter, but it is well with my soul.

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