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Eccl. 3:1 "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:"


'Tis the Winter of my soul;
When all of me is at rest;
Days are short…night time long,
Not much life here…I must confess.

Should I worry…get upset,
Nothing I can really do;
For as Winter comes…each cycle,
'Tis the same for me and you.

Winter is the time,
When our roots go down deep;
Looking for stored nourishment,
Our very soul…to keep.

What's been stored…deep within,
Shall sustain us, through this time;
Let your roots go down deep,
Nourishment…through this dark time.

Faith is tested…when tried,
That's when it's proven true;
Oh, Winter of my soul…remember,
'Tis faith that shall see us through.

The darkness being pushed back,
Daylight hours longer;
All the earth is warming up,
Rays of sunlight growing stronger.

Now…Oh, now I feel a stirring,
From deep down…within;
New life wanting to spring forth,
New…not what I have been.

Soon buds shall spring forth,
Followed soon by leaves;
This new life…more and more apparent,
With eyes to see…believe.

Spring…Oh, Spring has come,
The old growth falls away;
All of nature springing forth,
Quickly, quickly now…no delay.

'Tis a time for pruning,
What's dead…cut away;
New life must be set free,
Get rid of the decay.

Blossoms springing forth now,
Their fragrance fills the air;
Such a pleasant time of life,
Clean and fresh…not a single care.

Now, we're starting to believe,
As tiny fruit appear;
There's hope for a rich harvest,
But, that comes later in the year.

Summer time heavy upon us,
Sun-filled days…hot nights too;
This fruit growing quickly…now,
And, warm breezes gently blow.

'Tis a good time,
Contentment fills the air;
Seems that all is well,
All are right on schedule…beauty everywhere.

Now, the time of harvest,
As leaves change color…it is Fall;
Laborers go into the orchard,
To pick the fruit…answering Autumn's call.

Such a crisp time…leaves blowing away,
Still, for a short time…some fruit shall remain;
Not everything ready for harvest,
Don't pick too soon…from that refrain.

'Tis a rich time…time for thanks giving,
Thank God for the increase;
Fruit bountiful…in our lives,
Harvest time…God's masterpiece.

So, when harvest comes,
Your fruit…freely give;
God, our Master Gardener,
Has produced a harvest that's impressive.

All glory goes to Him,
For He has labored long;
I thought that it was I,
But, 'twas He…who made me strong.

Now, the Winter of my life,
Looms on…down the road;
Reflecting on the past,
I think of this place I've called my abode.

Memories…how precious,
Of the times and things we did;
The many times He carried me,
Never left me unattended.

God is not an abstract,
A formula or plan;
He uses people to do His work,
His vision far-reaching…having great span.

Sometimes a Brother or a Sister,
Will help to cut away;
The old growth we hang onto,
That was part of another day.

He uses others to prune us,
To dig up and to dung;
To show us what we still carry,
Sometimes, since we were young.

God's not limited in resources,
He can and will use them all;
An abundant harvest from mankind,
This His purpose…His goal.

So, allow Him to prune you,
And, do all that He sees fit;
Know that…in your heart-of-hearts,
All is done in love…for our benefit.

Don't turn around and run,
When you see His chosen vessels;
Come running at you…full of zeal,
Bent on trimming all your branches.

They have not…yet learned,
To speak the truth…in Love;
Practising on you, by trial and error...learning,
The Love that comes from Above.

In the meantime…we'll learn patience,
And, they…in return;
Shall see the Love of God…lived-out,
And, for this…their hearts will yearn.

We're all in this together,
All have a place in the orchard;
The Seasons of our lives,
These are times to be treasured.


Oct. 17, 2000

Aimee Love

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Aimee Love


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