It's that time of year where we, in the Pacific Northwest, white knuckle our gortex through what feels like an eternal gray winter. So, it's time for another cliche metaphor about seasons, because, let's be honest, they're good ones.
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Instead of grumbling, what if we ask God to help us see further into the depths of his love for us in the midst of darkness? What if we didn't have to squint at the promised light at the end of this crap six-month PNW winter tunnel? What if, in doing that, we are missing out on a diamond that God has placed under our noses? The kind that, if you can find it here, you know you'll never be without it.
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God's faithfulness does not change. Not with the weather. Not with our circumstances. So, plunging through the tack of mud along a silver trail is a form of worship. It's a sacrifice of praise to the artist, who is eager to reveal his handiwork to his children who look for him here.
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"For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God." Romans 2:20⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Whatever bleakness we face, let us worship before spring. Let's marvel at the lichen that hugs bare branches like coral. Let the moss that drapes from naked trees like seaweed reveal to us the ocean depths of our Creator's design. God pulls back the tide on winter so he can reveal another layer of himself amidst the very place we thought we would drown.
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Stunning details grow in dark and cold places. By beholding these gifts, we can discover proof of God's loving attention to the intricate details of our personal lives in seasons that feel closer to death and darkness than light and life. Worship in winter. Ask to see Him, here. Open his Word. He is eager to show us something.
