Seasons

     There are seasons where hope is all but gone. In its place is numbness or sadness, resignation. Dreams don't exist because they just can't. They are long gone. It's the dead of February; a day without sun that will go pitch black and repeat itself tomorrow. On and on and on. Groundhog Day. Spring will never come. 

     But then there are seasons where hope appears like the sunrise - slowly, as you question if it's really coming until it's absolutely there and you feel the warmth of it on your face. And you know that just as God made the sun to rise, He gave you that hope. He knew that you needed it. He knew that it would take the cinderblock off of your chest and give you relief. Colors are more vibrant. People sound different. A long-lost dream doesn't seem entirely impossible anymore. 

     He puts you through both for a reason. Without one, the other wouldn't mean much. If I didn't feel the fight against depression in the painful cold, I wouldn't spend the summer days glancing up at the warm sky and thinking wow, I've never seen that shade of blue before.

     But then there's a tug - hopelessness is creeping back in. No, no, please no. But as much as I don't want to relive it, I know how it ends. I know that I will survive. Hope will go, but it will come back. While it's gone, I will be sad but I will also change and learn a thing or twenty.  

     And when it reappears, it will be like a grieved over long-lost friend has shown up unannounced and held out her arms for a hug. I will want to cry, and I will look up at the sky and think, "Thank you, God."