Loss and Redemption

A lonely wreckage of a battlefield can't be restored to what it was. The blood cannot be removed. Those blades of grass that were trampled can't be sewn back together. The trees that were burnt cannot be revived.

But even so. The only thing we can trust is for the rain and the sun to continue. The blood cannot be removed - but the rain will wash over the ground and eventually the blood will return to the earth. The blades of grass cannot be sewn back together, and the burnt trees cannot be revived - but in the barrenness of earth left behind, after sun and rain, with passage of time, new grass will return. After many years, steady trees will grow and provide shade and knit their roots into the ground.

But flowers, the most delicate and lovely things of all, need very little time - in fact, they may lift their gentle faces out of the scarred earth even before the blood is washed away. No matter the wreckage, we are not abandoned. No matter the loss in our hearts, God will be with us. We cannot ask to be protected from hurt - but new life will come. It will come without invitation, it will spring like love from the heart - unbidden, without concern for convenience, it will break through the tough layers of the earth, even when they are too hardened and fearful to believe.

Even in a charred sea of ashes and dirt, one tiny bright blossom is a beacon of courage. Even in the darkest of times, dear one, know your heart matters. The voice of innocence that believes in life and brighter things is not foolish - in fact it is stronger and braver than all of the forces of destruction, however loud their trumpets and trampling footsteps may sound. One tiny flower, one seed of hope, is the thing we should trust most. Life always comes back. So despite the most crushing of losses, we wait - and the sun and rain will come, and one day the battlefield will look like any other hillside, there may be birds in the trees, and that lone flower will no longer be there, but instead there will be a multitude of colors, beauty unimaginable, waving with the grass in the wind.

-For my heart, for those I love, for my father, for all who have lost, for all who long for Spring.


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