There was a season not that long ago,
When joy rained down and laughter flowed;
A fullness and feasts of fellowship and fun,
Rare does one know soon that harvest is gone;
Bounty and blessing fade as winter falls,
The winter season with its icy nights and frigid ground,
When all goes dark and death does what it does,
The God of the seasons mysteriously quiet and still.
But life is not gone only awareness,
Hidden by frozen feelings of a season gone by;
Life is there, dormant in the seed;
Only the Father of Mysteries sees.
The Harvest now two seasons distant,
Obscured by pain and cold will soon feel rain;
The time of winter is not joyful and happy doesn’t grow,
but trusting contentment grows within the seeking soul.
Pain is a platform, a season not wasted,
Humility the seeds to plant as winter fades,
Watered with tears of unmet expectations,
Heaven’s pure water does what tears do,
The pain gone by makes the seed to grow.
Now a field of supernatural possibilities in view,
So shaking does what shaking does
And resurrection awakens those unalive.
The life of Jesus disregarded by some,
Now saved by a cold season.
For seeds of humility, and brokenness firmly in place;
A harvest of the miraculous hidden underground,
During a God sent winter deep in the soul.
For there was a season not that long ago,
When joy rained down, and laughter flowed;
And the rain did rain, and the crops did grow,
But sting set in and Winter came;
Yet, the God of all seasons does what He does,
Humanity surrendered finds hope in His name, Jesus.