There is something glittering about the New Year—other than the ball in Times Square, that is. Right now, as I look out my window, the ground is still littered with broken branches from our Christmas Day ice storm. Surviving limbs and twigs reach to the sky like fingers, poised and frozen, waiting to catch the warming rays of spring. I love that in our seasons, our calendar—even in the kitchen scraps I toss onto the compost heap—God has hidden an element of His story: Endings, and even death, give way to life.
Endings and Beginnings
Endings and Beginnings
Endings and Beginnings
There is something glittering about the New Year—other than the ball in Times Square, that is. Right now, as I look out my window, the ground is still littered with broken branches from our Christmas Day ice storm. Surviving limbs and twigs reach to the sky like fingers, poised and frozen, waiting to catch the warming rays of spring. I love that in our seasons, our calendar—even in the kitchen scraps I toss onto the compost heap—God has hidden an element of His story: Endings, and even death, give way to life.