What hope, then, for us sinners? So much hope – if we would but turn and receive it.
The heart of winter – October 2004
Grey clouds scurry across a twilight sky.
A cool wind blows from the North.
The last of the leaves are blown from the trees.
Dead leaves make patterns in the swirl of the wind.
Will you not come home to Me, my children? Will you still tarry outside?
Winter will be upon you soon, and the heart of winter, winter’s heart, will fall upon you.
I have all things prepared.
The lights are on, the fire stoked, the feast is laid.
Will you not come home?
I am here, to welcome you.
How long will you tarry?
Will you wait until it is too late?
Until the heart of winter is upon you?
Until the snow is thick upon the ground, until a shroud of ice is upon everything?
Until winter’s heart claws at your own heart?
Until there is no life, no love, no peace and no purpose?
Until the heart of winter will claim you as its own?
There is still time.
Come home to me – there is still time.
Before the heart of winter grips you forever.
Before it is too late.
Come home to Me.