A quiet reflection on waiting, hope, and God’s gentle work in every season.
There’s something quietly sacred about spring.
The way life returns without fanfare. A small bud pushes through cold soil. The wind still carries winter’s breath, but something soft and new has begun. Not all at once — just gently, without demand.
It reminds me that God is always working, even when things seem still. Spring doesn’t force its way in. It arrives in whispers, in patience. In trust.
Every flower that blooms is not a rebellion, but a response.
A response to light. To warmth. To the quiet call of a season shifting in God’s perfect timing.
“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:1
So often, we carry our own winters — long stretches of waiting, questions without answers, quiet days that seem unchanged. But even in those places, God is present. The soil of our lives is not forgotten. The roots are growing, unseen.
And when the moment comes — not rushed, not delayed — something stirs. A step taken. A prayer whispered. A bit of peace returning. These are the signs of a quiet becoming. Not loud, but real.
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
— John 1:5
I’m learning that we don’t need to strive to bloom.
The flower doesn’t bloom because it tries harder. It blooms because it’s time — because the One who made it has called it into the light. That same grace covers us too.
“They will be like a tree planted by the water… its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.”
— Jeremiah 17:7–8
So if you’re still in winter — trust the process.
If you’re beginning to feel the stir of spring — receive it slowly.
And if you’re blooming, even quietly — know it’s by His hand.
In His time, we bloom.
