People always say resurrection happens in the Spring. New life unfolds with the flowers, the trees. When the grass turns green and the sun shows its face once again.
I came back to life almost exactly one year ago, during the time when the Fall has one cheek on Winter’s shoulder, leaning in for the full embrace.
I was resurrected in November.
It began one frosty night when I got in my car and simply drove.
The beginning of life sounds so easy, but stepping out alone into the unknown was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.
I was so very tired. One grows weary of being dead. And so I drove.
Into the beginning of a new journey. Into new friendships. Into new experiences. Into new conversations. Into welcoming arms. Into finally letting go. Into a love that runs thick in my veins and pounds with each beat of my heart.
Into new life.
This has always been my favorite time of the year. I believe God understands this, and purposefully brought healing with the frost last year.
I believe He brought life with the crisp air again this year – not to me, but to one I love dearly.
I’m thankful.
I stood in the grass this morning with my dog in the 21 degree chill, and I thought about where I was just 12 months ago.
Withered, wilted, dead. About to be brought to life again.
People always say resurrection happens in the spring.
I was resurrected in November.
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