And so the seasons turn, leaving the parting season holding out the sure and certain promise of the one to come. And if we are sufficiently naïve to refuse to relinquish the season that is passing, we will completely forfeit the promise of the one for which the passing season existed.

We dig wells that are less than a stone’s throw away from bubbling springs because we think that digging the well means that we don’t need to rely on the God Who created the spring. Either way, He created the water in both.

We think that digging the well means that we don’t need to rely on the God Who created the spring. Either way, He created the water in both.

If life is nothing more than a journey to death, autumn makes sense but spring does not.

Easter is a time where we are reminded that conclusions in man's mind are beginnings in God's plan.

An ending is only happening because at some point it was a beginning. And if an ending is dependent upon a beginning, I would be well advised to focus on the miracle of beginnings verses the pain of endings.

Does the robin sing because the cold of winter is leaving or the warmth of spring is coming? Or might he be singing because each without the other would lessen both?

Spring never looks at what the previous year has left it to work with. For you see, the issue is not the amount that’s left. The issue is the privilege to have any amount.

There’s something of a restorative quality about spring, where something whispers wild rumors of new beginnings arising from the seemingly dead seeds in our lives. There’s something almost cruel about it all, as if there might be some sort of truth about a new life actually being possible. Yet, maybe it is true.