Father, this week comes to a week-day end, though I will obviously continue. Right now spring and winter are in a fight to the death, where people in thick coats walk past budding tulips and think how strange this all is.

It reminds me of my life, Lord. The life you are curating and cultivating even as we speak.

The wind reminds me of the season past, who I used to be, and no matter how Satan may cause that wind to gust in my mind it is a season past and that is all.

The budding flowers remind me of life that is yet to come, that you are bringing new creation - life out of dead places, as I follow You breathlessly.

I am not who I was - the winter has past - and yet I'm not fully blooming either. There is more work to be done.

So as the seasons change I'll pray, serve, eat and love and attempt to keep my swearing and bitterness only for the most important occasions.

Sanctify my unholiness, help my unbelief, and remind me that I am me because of you - both the best "me" and the worst "me."

True. Thank you.

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