A bulb looks dry and dead in the autumn. There is no life all winter, then in the spring the smallest green shoot pushes through the soil. But it still looks so small and vulnerable surrounded by such barren dusty dirt.
Photo: http://greenjeane.blogspot.co.nz/2011/12/odd-timing.html used with permission.
The smallest spark as the flint strikes to light the campfire. The firewood is damp. I shield the smouldering tinder from the cold wind, and carefully feed it with what dry kindling I can find. I gently blow on the small flame, coaxing it to life.
I have seen the glimmer of life in my soul. It’s as small and vulnerable as a small green shoot, or a smouldering flame
Lots of people I’m talking to in Christchurch are running out of cope. It’s hard to see the end of the grief and stress. But I hold on to Faith.
Faith is the substance of things hoped for. I am hoping for new life. For restoration and renewal.
A lawn of daffodils. A warm campfire, roasting potatoes.
Photo: http://penelopepiscopal.blogspot.co.nz/2012/02/daffodils-redux.html used with permission.
A small trickle of a spring that flows into a river.
I hope, trust and believe for new growth, new life. Healing will come.