To know that nothing hurts the godly, is a matter of comfort; but to be assured that all things which fall out shall co-operate for their good, that their crosses shall be turned into blessings, that showers of affliction water the withering root of their grace and make it flourish more; this may fill their hearts with joy till they run over.
I'm not inclined to proclaim a word for the year, but I have been known to focus on a word or phrase for a season. Like the year I contemplated "savor" every day over the sixty days before my sixtieth birthday. (Has it really been five years already?)
For months I've been sitting in a season of letting-go (more on this next week). Though the intensity has and will continue to vary, to live open-handed with joy and contentment to God's sovereignty -- His gifts and graces -- is like every word I'm given. It's not a word to discard when the year or season is over, but to take root and grow deeper to produce sweeter fruit.
As I press into this season of letting-go, I also hear God's whisper -- flourish. I hear it in His Word and in the inspired words of His people. I see it in His creation.
Flourish, my daughter, flourish.
Flourish, my daughter, flourish.
Outside -- in our subtropic rural south winter -- the azaleas begin to flourish in my Pollywog Creek backyard.
