The year God dismantled my world and started rebuilding me from scratch to the glory of His grace.
I was born in winter and died the same year.
A heart can’t grow in stark sterility.
Any chance of life beneath the ground was frozen and pressed into the cement of frozen soil.
And so winter came and went and though I died, I lived.
I kissed the promise of springtime.
My passion of youth breathed life and tried to join creation in its new beginnings.
But the gentle rain was really a downpour; my seed too fragile to sustain itself. All hope washed away with floods.
Yet all around me, others grew and survived the rains. They thrived…and I watched…and lived some more.
Summer’s sun matured all those around me. They grew tall and strong.
My chance to grow had passed by me; all hope baked by the heat of the sun.
“Fire and heat refines”, I’m told, but for me, it kills.
My process of dying is perpetuated by the deceptive beauty of the seasons.
I rested and finally lay spent in the fall.
Fitting; while everything around me did the same. I was in sync for a brief moment with the rest of humanity.
I could pretend that I was resting from all the growing; just like them. But only I knew that my seed of life never gasped its first breath of air.