Showing posts with label Winter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Winter. Show all posts

Thursday, 18 April 2013

There Will Be Healing


 Today's Grace Moment: 

Every winter hordes of pale, half-frozen northerners flock to the south. One of their first rituals is to get rid of as much clothing as they can to allow that blessed sunshine to touch their skin again.

The prophet Malachi compares the presence of Jesus Christ to glorious sunshine. When he returns once and for all, everything will get better. "But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings" (Malachi 4:2). These wings are poetic references to the Son's rays.

May I say that I can't wait for that great day of healing? I long for the restoration of my body, and I long even more intensely for the healing of my soul and spirit. I will be glad in heaven that no one can hurt me anymore, but I am even gladder that I won't hurt anybody else. The blind will see, the mute will shout, and the disabled will dance. I will be well again, well in every way, and you will too. 


Saturday, 2 February 2013

God in the Winter

Written by Charles Spurgeon

“It was you who set all the boundaries of the earth; you made both summer and winter.” Psalm 74:17

My friend, as we begin on this wintry month, begin it with God. The cold snows and the piercing winds all remind us that God keeps His covenant in day and night, and assures us that He will also keep the glorious covenant which He has made with us in the person of Christ Jesus. God, who remains true to His Word during the turning of the seasons in this poor sin-polluted world, will not prove unfaithful in His dealings with His own well-beloved sons and daughters.

Winter in the soul is often an uncomfortable season. If now you are facing uncomfortable circumstances or discouraging experiences, it will feel very painful to you. But there is comfort in the fact that the Lord makes both summer and winter. He knows your pain. He sends the sharp blasts of adversity to nip the buds of expectation. He scatters the frost like ashes over the once lush meadows of our joy.