The bleak blasts of winter call us to the warmth of hearth and home. We wait in great expectation of Spring’s breaking when the sun spreads its blanket over the frozen earth, whispering to dormant seeds to awake out of sleep, for the time of resurrection.

I long to know the day of visitation. I raise my eyes for a glimpse behind the covering clouds that still hide your face from view. So many voices giving directions; so many arrows pointing. But the time of wandering and waiting is over. The time to rise has come.