Snowmelt
I think I need to expect more mess in my life when God is working. Which, honestly, is always.
When it snows or ices over, the world is left pristine and calm. But the plants below can’t grow in the snow. Buried under a sheet of glittering protection, new life suffocates and freezes.
But when the snow thaws and the world comes back to life, it’s a mess at first. The snow and ice melt into muddy slush and somehow things are still too cold and yet now too warm. We sweat and shiver in equal measure as we wade through chilled puddles to get back to how the world used to be. Everything sticks to our shoes and follows us home, to work, to school, nature’s separation anxiety after all our hours indoors. It’s irritating. It’s uncomfortable. It’s messy.
Unseen, though, is the work under the surface. The returning heat and damp infuse life into what’s hidden: seeds already sprouting without applause or acclaim. They don’t wait for an audience before chasing the Sun.
So when my heart’s been frozen solid from fear or pride or envy, and the Son begins to melt it away again, who am I to expect no mud, no puddles, no slush? His refining fire leads to struggle in me, as all things that thrive in the dark squirm away from warmth and light. Just as seeds don’t blossom fully-formed overnight, neither can I change without seasons, without freezing and melting over and over.
God, I pray that in the ebb and flow of icy stillness and blazing life You would give me the trust and patience to bear this, the process of growing and changing, well. Amen.
