They are breathtaking in their beauty.
Once barren, they now bear a harvest of frosty bounty. Every slender branch, each intricate twig, now made thick and heavy with white.
I am stolen away by reminders of grace.
But I wonder– if hoary oaks and maples had voices to speak– minds to ponder– hearts to break– what would they say?
Remembering spring and bud and blossom and new leaf– that time of life and joy and hope and rushing water– would ice-bound branches now rejoice?
Remembering summer and green and sun and warmth– that time of shade and swings and climbing children– would shoots wrapped in winter now sing?
Remembering autumn and fruit and color and glory– that time of laughter and cool and thankful harvest– would frozen twigs now give glory?
Or would they wonder?
With naked arms lifted to heaven, would they beg answers of the sky?
We gave everything– you made us beautiful and then took away our glory– you made us useful and took away our fruit–
We thought the loss and wind and nakedness of November would lead to life and beauty, but instead came ice and snow and cold and tempest.
And this is I.
Stripped down, praying for grace, receiving chill and storm and life bound in unyielding ice.
Trying to remember spring’s promise. Seeking answers from a sky that often seems frozen.
And hoping that you, viewing my life from outside, see beauty and reminders of His grace that I so often fail to see.