Our Spring Will Come
Exodus 6:6–7
“Wherefore say unto the children of Israel, I am the Lord, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, and I will rid you out of their bondage, and I will redeem you with a stretched out arm, and with great judgments:
And I will take you to me for a people, and I will be to you a God: and ye shall know that I am the Lord your God, which bringeth you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians.”
Spring reminds me of beautiful new beginnings. The once barren trees of winter begin to show signs of life with tiny green budding leaves. Some trees release millions of grains of pollen, covering the ground—as we often see here in North Carolina—hoping that at least a few will bring forth new growth. Many allergy sufferers, like me, don’t always look forward to this part of spring—swollen eyes, runny noses, and sleepless nights. Yet even with that, spring still carries a sense of newness and quiet hope.
In my backyard garden, rows of yellow tulips are in bloom, displaying their beauty. My roses have doubled in size and are filled with new reddish-green leaves. The play area is now covered with fresh grass. Growth is everywhere around me.
I’ve come to appreciate that it is often just a matter of time before dormant bushes begin to sprout leaves and eventually flowers. Nature has a gentle way of teaching hope and patience. When tomato plants begin to flower, it feels like a promise that fresh, ripe tomatoes are on their way. I remember last fall collecting several tomatoes from the one surviving plant in my garden. They were sweet and delicious—but enjoying them meant allowing time. I would check on them each day, thinking, “Maybe just a few more days.” When they were finally ready, it felt especially satisfying. The waiting became part of the experience.
Life is full of things we hope for and care deeply about. Waiting doesn’t always feel easy, especially when something matters to us. It’s natural to feel eager, or even a little discouraged, when things take longer than we expect. Sometimes, in those moments, it can help to gently notice what is still growing around us, even if what we’re waiting for isn’t quite ready yet.
There are times when we may wonder why answers don’t come sooner, or why certain seasons last longer than we anticipated. In those moments, it can be comforting to remember that God, the greatest Gardener, sees the full picture. He understands what is needed for growth—what needs time, what needs care, and what may still be quietly developing beneath the surface.
In Exodus 6:6–7, God promises the Israelites that they will be His people and He will be their God. He declares, “I am the Lord, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians… and I will redeem you with a stretched out arm.”
The Israelites experienced a long season of waiting—430 years. It’s easy to imagine how challenging that must have felt at times. And yet, God had not forgotten them. In His time, He remembered and delivered them.
In our own lives, when things feel still or uncertain, we can hold onto the possibility that we are not forgotten. God sees, He knows, and He cares. Trusting His timing doesn’t always mean having clear answers right away, but it can create space for peace, even in the waiting.
He has also promised that we are not alone. Through Christ, there is comfort, strength, and grace to carry us through each season.
As we wait, we may begin to notice small signs of growth—quiet changes, renewed strength, or unexpected peace. Like spring, these moments remind us that something is unfolding, even when we cannot yet see the full picture.
As we trust the greatest Gardener, we may discover beauty and growth within ourselves that we never knew were possible.