The New England Spring (Aviela Groder)

I don’t know about you, but where I grew up, spring was always a big deal.

I was born and raised in New Hampshire, where it feels like winter eight out of the twelve months of the year. Winter up north is dark, gloomy, and cold. Whether it’s rain or snow, the sun hardly seems to shine. The days are shorter, the sky is heavier, and everything slows down under a thick blanket of gray.

As a kid, I loved the winter. I loved building snowmen, sledding and tromping around in the piles of fluffy snow. The winter captivated me, especially after a storm when it looked soft and untouched. But even then, something inside me started to stir when winter began to loosen its grip. When the snow started to melt, it was like the whole area woke up.

The sun would glisten off icy yards, turning everything into tiny mirrors of light. Little streams would start to form along the sides of the roads. Patches of grass would peek through the snow like they had been waiting all winter to breathe again. And the flowers, the stubborn little flowers, would begin pushing their way through frozen ground. It felt like the heaviness that had settled over everything was finally lifting.

People would step outside a little longer. Windows would open. Everyone seemed to take a deeper breath of fresh air. Hope was alive again. But the thing about New England is that spring doesn’t always arrive all at once.

It teases you.

One day the sun is warm on your face and the snow is melting into the earth. The next day you wake up and it’s snowing again. Winter isn’t quite ready to let go, and spring hasn’t fully taken over yet. And honestly, life can feel a lot like that.

Sometimes we walk through seasons that feel like winter. The kind of season where everything feels barren and still. The sky feels cloudy, the ground feels frozen, and the days feel long. You look around and wonder if anything will ever grow again. Maybe you’re in that kind of season right now. Maybe things feel quiet with God. Maybe prayers feel unanswered. Maybe your heart feels tired and the road ahead looks gray and endless.

But what I’ve learned, both from New England winters and from walking with the Lord, is that winter never has the final word.

Spring always comes.

Sometimes it arrives slowly. Sometimes it’s just a small glimpse at first. A little warmth. A little light. A tiny sign of life pushing through frozen ground. Scripture reminds us of this same hope. In Song of Songs 2:11–12, it says: "See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come."

Even when winter feels long, God promises that it will not last forever. If you’re in a winter season right now, hold onto this: your spring is coming.

It may not come all at once. It may look like small moments of hope at first. But the Lord is faithful. Just like the first flowers that push through the snow, He is always at work beneath the surface, preparing something new. Isaiah 43:19 reminds us of this promise: "See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."

Sometimes we don’t see it right away. Sometimes the ground still looks frozen. But beneath the surface, God is already beginning something new. And in seasons where waiting feels long and heavy, we can remember that the night does not last forever. Winter does not last forever. Even in the coldest seasons, God is quietly preparing new life.

And just like the first glimpse of sunshine after a long northern winter, hope will break through again and a new season will come. Until then, we will patiently wait for the New England spring to fully bloom.