The garden, the one I nurtured, watered and fed, has died. The blooms are gone and the foliage faded to brown.
There is little sign of life in this once flourishing patch of ground. But past experience gives hope. I have learned that appearances can be deceiving.
Although there is no outward sign of life or beauty, except an occasional weed, something is going on beneath the surface. The garden isn't dead. It is simply waiting - resting in the knowledge that soon the dead branches will be cut away and new life will emerge.
With time and patience it waits for the Master Gardener to send the sun and rain. Then life will burst out of roots which have been nurtured and cared for all through the freezing rains and dark, cold nights.
So too, my heart. In seasons when all seems lost, the Father is working. At just the right time, a new season will begin, a season filled with life and beauty.
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