The snow softly falls from a grey sky this morning. It is grey and white outside, the only color being that of the evergreens lining my street. The house is quiet as I sit in my rocking chair in front of the window, facing East.
Birds soar above the trees, doing their morning thing, as I do mine. And then they are gone.
It is a quiet and reflective sort of morning. My husband has gone to substitute teach at the school he retired from last June, and I am enjoying a meditative moment of solitude.
Someone down the street comes out, bundled up in winter attire, just to get the newspaper from the box at the end of his driveway.
A woman passes by walking her beautiful golden retriever; I hear another dog barking in the distance.
All is quiet.
Pots of orchids and African violets line my windowsill. The violets are in full bloom but the orchids are just starting to bud. I look past them to the great white expanse that is my front yard and I see my lavender plants peeking through the snow. They are quite resilient. I often think of how their life and their journey here in Nova Scotia mirrors my own life and journey. I will share that with you another time.
I have a Spanish lavender plant that is not able to survive our frigid winters, so last fall I potted it up and brought it inside. Now, at the end of February, after much coaxing and coddling, it is hanging on for dear life, but still alive. I hope to be able to plant it outside again in the Spring.
It’s been a long, cold and tiring winter this year on many levels, but God’s promise of Spring always gives me hope and joy. I love this verse from Scripture that speaks of that hopefulness:
As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.