INTRO — The Quiet Lessons Hidden in Winter
There’s something sacred about the stillness of early winter.
It’s a quiet not of emptiness, but of invitation—an opening to listen, to notice, to remember.
It’s in those pauses that life often reveals its quiet miracles…
and one morning, in the fog and frost, I found mine.
THE STORY — The Resilient Rose
One morning, as the fog settled low over my front garden and the season’s first frost kissed the earth, I stepped outside into a world wrapped in stillness.
The grass shimmered with a thin layer of ice, glistening like scattered diamonds in the timid sun.
There was a hushed, almost mystical quiet—the kind of silence that announces winter’s arrival before the calendar does.
Most of the garden had surrendered to the season.
The vibrant greens had faded to brown.
The flowers once bold and overflowing with colour had curled inward, slipping quietly into their winter sleep.
But as I walked the path, absorbing the sober beauty of change, something bright tugged at the corner of my eye.
A flash of red.
Alive.
Radiant.
As though summer had refused to bow.
I stepped closer, half-convinced it was an illusion—but there it was:
a single red rose in full bloom, standing tall and unapologetically brilliant.
A lone survivor defying the frost, the fog, the cold, and the season that insisted its time had already passed.
I pulled out my phone and captured it—the unexpected miracle rooted in my front yard.
Then I sat for a moment in the crisp air, breath swirling around me, watching frost shimmer around the rose while its petals held strong… steady… unbroken.
And as I looked at it, I realized:
Life is full of winters—
seasons when colour fades, when everything familiar seems to fall asleep, when the world grows cold and still.
But even in those seasons, something within us holds on.
Something refuses to give in.
Something blossoms anyway.
REFLECTION — Bloom Anyway
The resilient rose reminded me that strength isn’t always loud.
It isn’t always visible.
It isn’t always understood.
Sometimes resilience is simply standing when everything around you says fall.
It’s holding your colour when the world turns grey.
It’s blooming in the frost because something deeper than circumstance whispers:
Not yet. I’m not finished.
Life will always have its winters.
But even then, there is still a place for unexpected beauty—
for persistence, for courage, for the quiet bravery of continuing on.
Because even when the air grows cold,
your purpose hasn’t gone dormant.
JOURNAL OR COMMENT QUESTIONS
1️⃣ What “winter” season are you walking through right now?
2️⃣ Where might God be asking you to hold your colour and bloom anyway?
3️⃣ What does resilience look like in your life today—quiet, unseen, but still alive?
POETIC ENDING — The Silent Bloom
So when the frost comes,
and the air grows heavy with endings,
remember the rose.
It did not wait for warmth to return.
It did not ask permission to bloom.
It simply stood—radiant and rooted—
because it was made to.
May we do the same.
May we bloom where the world least expects beauty.
May we rise from the frozen ground,
proof that grace still grows in every season.
DECLARATION — Appointed. Anointed. Becoming.
Even in the cold, I will rise.
Even in the silence, I will sing.
Even in the waiting, I will bloom.
Because I was created to reflect His glory—
in every season,
in every storm,
in every frost.
Appointed.
Anointed.
Becoming.