I went on a walk beside the creek today. We are in the midst of a deep, cold winter, and all about is covered with snow and ice and dead things. There is not a spark of green to be seen anywhere, the wind was blowing bitter and fierce, and even the sun was having a hard time shining. And there lay the river, buried in a coffin of ice so thick I had walked over it quite confidently not a month past. And then I heard a whispering, spluttering sound that sounded suspiciously like the sound of rushing water. My eyes roved over the snow-painted creek, and there, at the foot of a tiny fall, the ice broke, and the dark shadow of moving water could be glimpsed underneath.
It was a reminder to me that even in the deepest night of winter, when all seems irredeemably chilled and dead, God yet stirs the water. Some day He will melt the ice, the river will flow again, the grass will sprout green, and leaves will flourish on the bare branches of the trees. But until then, today is not wasted. Even though we can’t always see it, He is even now moving under the ice.
"He makes everything beautiful in its time."
