Seasonal Wastelands
Creation whispers a certainty we as inhabitants often take for granted; life progresses in seasons.
I remember a few months ago looking out at the trees that line our backyard. A winter grey wasteland, absent of any sign of life, mocking the hopes of warmer dreams. The bitter sting of those seemingly endless days defining existence and clouding vision for days to come. Cold cold reality.
Today the landscape has shifted. The grey has faded to blue and life again dances between the sunbeam dust clouds streaking through the tree leaves. On the tips of notes sung by newly hatched birds, we find the will of God. Tucked in-between the blades of grass, forcefully pushing past the crust of creation, is the promise of new life. What once was dead is now alive.
I am finding the circumstances of our lives are no different from the story of this world’s design. At times we find ourselves in those wasteland seasons. Left scoffing at the audacious suggestion of hope, not aligning with the stark reality of whatever grief we are enduring. The loss of a job, the breakdown of relationships, the end of a dream, all things that place us in a posture falling short of our plans – these seasons shake us.
And then, something shifts. The promise of new life set in motion thousands of years before our present-day pain begins to push past the grey.
“Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.” – Psalm 43:5
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.” – Psalm 34:18
“I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in him.” – Psalm 40:1-3
There will be times in our lives that seem like all hope is lost, but it’s seasonal. Through the winter storms and summer skies, the trees remain rooted in their creation. We too must not forget from who we were created.
