Hope: that long-buried seed you forget about because it’s dormant. Hearing nothing, seeing less.
Weeks pass, then months, and you get used to the feeling of emptiness, a lack of expectation. It becomes your regular as you begin to wonder if this will be reality.
Has the frost destroyed the soil of your heart? Will this always be the way, living muted, on auto pilot, surviving day by day?
You even wonder whether God intends for this new normal and long for His presence and love that seems to lack.
Where, in these barren fields, is He?
This winter doesn’t seem to end, even when the first days of spring officially arrive. The ground is still frozen, grass lay brown and brittle, miles of bare branches and zero signs of life. Snow and sleet still pour down, relentless, and the cold is a constant companion.
But you cannot underestimate the determination of the seed, deep buried underground. It is meant to do what it was made for; it listens to the One who first dropped it into the earth of such a fledgling heart.
Though it tarries, wait. You cannot rush the work, the becoming. You do not know when or how, but that is not up to you anyway.
Perhaps that seed you wait on is waiting on its own orders, its own cultivation.
Hope grows slow. An important metamorphosis is happening in these slogging, messy months and it cannot be rushed. God is all seasons and shaping and for deep and good transformation, and He does not adhere to time like how you cling to it. For Him, the seed is hidden in a safe place, nurtured, protected from the elements until it is ready for release.
God has been saving you.
God has been savoring you.
God has not stopped caring for you every step of the way.