Dallas Drive

It's so crazy to see the seasons change these trees.
There must be a Director. I'm breathless as the ground meets my knees.
From green to gray and back to green again.
Reminds me of His timeline. Lived. Died. Then, the tomb couldn't hold Him in.
I'm convinced that creation reads the Creator's story like a book.
It's yelling about the existence of The Majestic with every look.
The bare branches remember those three cold days when we thought we were alone.
The rose explains the beauty of the most painful death ever known.
A dim gray comes and hovers in the sky.
Painting a portrait of the heartache our Father experienced when He watched His Son die. 
The colors fade quickly as the cold air sucks it away from the coast.
It remembers how Jesus took His last breath and gave up the ghost.
It remains this way but for a short period of time.
Then, as promised, it comes back. And brighter than before, it shines.
It screams reminding that Jesus did not die like the average man.
He died with the power of resurrection in His hand.
His body went cold only to burn again like a violently in love sun.
Creation remembers how this all begun.
It recalls the agreement between a Son and His Father.
An agreement signed in blood to save every son and every daughter.
The overcast sky clears as the sun penetrates through. The green returns with pride as the flowers bloom.
The bare trees are clothed again.
They remember how naked a sinner is without Him.
So, let the seasons change these trees.
Notice the Director and let the ground meet your knees.
Watch it go from green to gray and back to green again.
Smile as you are told the story of how the tomb could not hold Him in.