Quite some time has passed since my previous writing, so hello—it's me. I've thought about you for a long, long time.

Time has passed, and with it, the seasons. The leaves turned from vivid greens to every tone of red. Arkansas is heavily wooded, so I always enjoy the unfurling of fall. But winter inevitably follows—heavy and grey.

To be honest, winter has not always been a season I enjoy. Heavy blankets of clouds coat the sky from December to March, leaving me to feel cold and uninspired. I know this sounds dramatic, but it's how I feel.

While observing the barren trees, I noticed a different kind of beauty. There's no canopy of leaves to hide the framework of branches. The trees stand bare, opposing the calamities of Winter. 

Sometimes we have moments like this—stripped and barren. Maybe by our own doing, maybe by someone else's. But there's something promising about holding nothing. Even though a tree seems bare, there's hope in knowing spring will come, and when it does, it won't be empty.

But what do we do in the midst of winter?

I find myself asking this question often. What do we do when life is bleak?

I think we have to shift our perspective from what looks empty to seeing hope for what's to come—a promise for the future. Just because something we desire isn't fulfilled right now doesn't mean that promise is forsaken forever. Sometimes walking with the Lord means being patient and content in the waiting. This past year, I've learned what it means to bend without breaking—like a tree in winter climates—trusting the Lord to sustain me in the unfulfilled seasons.

During dormant months, we know spring's promise will be fulfilled—in time, with the seasons. A tree can't bloom out of season. Sometimes it must be pruned and conditioned to better hold what's to come.

There are times my trees are bare and I want them full and lush right now. But like a tree, I have to be prepared to hold what the Lord has for me. And when my hands are holding something else, I have to put those things down to accept the gifts God is waiting to give.

This brings me back to those bare branches. There's beauty in being barren, in waiting. When I was driving, I saw the wild frays of limbs reaching out in every direction—something I wouldn't notice about a tree's anatomy if the leaves hadn't fallen. In the same way, we can learn more about who we are at our center—who God has created us to be—when the external distractions are removed.

I think about John 3:12-17, where Jesus speaks about earthly things and heavenly things—how He came not to condemn but to save. When I look at bare branches reaching upward against a grey winter sky, I see an earthly picture of a heavenly truth: even during barren seasons we are not left by God. 

We  get to be held by roots we cannot see. God didn't create winter to condemn the trees to barrenness—He created it so they could be prepared in their waiting for Spring. In the same way, God doesn't strip us bare to punish us, but to prepare us for what He wants to give. The barrenness isn't the end of the story—it's the promise for what is to come.