A Promise of a Future

February is the worst month. Mid-winter, no major celebrations to look forward to, and Christmas and New Year’s already distant feeling memories.

But there are buds on the trees. The next time you see a tree, barren and gray-brown against the dull sky, pull a branch close and inspect the twigs. You’ll see small forms projecting from the wood. These are the promises of leaves that the trees put out well in advance of their magnificent unfurling. The tree has been resting and preparing.

In Boston, there is ice in the ponds and rivers; last week, as the top layer of ice melted, the surface of Olmsted Pond became a grand mirror, and the spindly branches of trees reflected from across the pond. I was pulled into the moment, seeing this new perspective on a drab and ordinary scene.

As the cold months have gone on, I’ve felt like the trees in winter; steady and solid, enduring the cold, but not vibrant. But if I look closer, there is a hint of growth. Progress, a promise of the future that will come. The trees are not dormant in winter—they are unobtrusively growing; so am I.

We are all enduring in a remarkably hard time. This is a global pandemic—and at times we forget that in the darkness of this time, we are growing. When the sun shines stronger and there is more light, the buds on the trees will open. And when this moment passes, we will bloom, as well.

Creator, give us strength and comfort. We are in a cold and dark winter, and we long for the light of your love. Let us take hope in the promise of your Kingdom. Amen.

Elizabeth currently lives in Boston with her dog and cat. She enjoys watching the seasons change on her daily walks.