winter

I suppose this will sound like most of my posts, but maybe it's because it's what God's trying to pound into my head (lovingly, of course). I want to write about seasons. I want to write about autumn. And winter. And the cold. And dying. And living. And learning. And the beauty that we all know bursts forth in spring, but also the hidden beauty of harsh January evenings.

Is death a beautiful thing - a beautiful process - because it doesn't have to be the end, because it can be a beautiful beginning? Death itself holds a mystery and beauty of its own, even before the buds of new life push through damp, brown earth. It's not so much death that is the tragedy - it's the separation that results from sin, the separation from the Savior. In fact, death can be the bridge between a hopeless existence and a brilliant new adventure, a love story, a relationship with a daddy, a friend, an all-powerful, awe-inspiring, incomprehensible manifestation of real life.

It's no wonder that we are called to carry our crosses every day. It's no wonder that we are called to die. As we die to ourselves - to the sin that separates us from him - we become lovely. We begin to radiate the colors of a God-led life. Life and death are one and the same - death becomes the doorway to newness. Yes, the winters of life and the death-moments that may seem tragic offer the chance for me and for you to give off our brightest hues. We have the opportunity to shout to the world that God is great and in the middle of dark, gray autumns, the gold, red, and orange of death offer hope. And in the middle of long, white winters, the sun looks brighter, the sky looks bluer, and even the snow - the element that seems to bring this death - gives off its own unique beauty, changing the way we look at landscapes we see each day.

If there were never snow, if there were never November, if there were never moments of hurt, lessons on forgiveness, betrayals, broken hearts, letdowns, disappointments, confusion, scars, and bruising, the life of spring would be meaningless - the grace of God would seem small. Maybe it would even seem deserved. Maybe we wouldn't even notice it.

As I look back on my own experience, I see how the big deaths - the truly painful moments in my life - and the little deaths - the daily choices I must make - have shaped me, how God has used the winters and falls to create something - someone - that is slowly learning to be beautiful. Out of death grows life, but even the dying is an experience to cherish, because it's the dying that shows me just how big God is, how much I need him, how much he loves me, how much I can't comprehend about this human condition. I can be thankful for each dying moment, even the ones I don't yet understand. I'm thankful that pain can be transformed to beauty. I'm thankful that death means more than an ending - that in losing myself, in dying, I'm finally found, finally alive, scars and all.