It's midwinter.
It appears as if death has come to each tree in this wilderness.
It's cold enough to freeze my breath.
The trees appear to be lifeless
but I know appearances can be misleading,
for the outer shell is merely concealing
the life that still flows within.
These trees aren't dead but hibernating.
A bruised reed you will not break.
A wounded soul you will not forsake.
Though we appear to be devoid of grace and mercy,
yet still we are not abandoned,
still we are not forsook.
The day will come - take a second look,
when we'll bloom again, when we'll come alive
to all that Christ won - for us a great prize,
for him a soul now healthy and wise...