Spring in Ashe Baptist Association 

From the first whisper of creation in Genesis—“In the beginning…”—to the tender garden scenes in the Book of Revelation, Scripture carries the rhythm of spring. It is there in the dove returning to Noah with an olive leaf and in the psalmist’s joy that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning”. Christ’s promise gives us the promise that unless a seed falls into the ground and dies, it remains a seed but when it dies, it bears much fruit. In the coolest corner of North Carolina, where the Blue Ridge Mountains rise like ancient statutes, the Ashe Baptist Association of 43 churches begin to feel that excitement as winter loosens its grip. Snow retreats from fence posts. Creeks swollen with ice begin to chatter again. Dogwoods dare to bloom against the gray ridges. Spring has always meant warmer days for these mountain congregations. It means Revivals will be coming. After long Appalachian winters, when winds rattled sanctuary doors and ice weighed heavy on tin roofs, the churches renew their strength. Men climb ladders to patch shingles loosened by snow. Deacons clear fallen branches from cemetery paths. Youth groups scrub fellowship hall floors scarred by muddy boots and months of potluck suppers. Women arrange fresh flowers near pulpits worn smooth by generations of preaching. We call it Spring Cleaning. It is more than maintenance. It is a testimony. In like manner, the Lord reminds us in Genesis how He spoke darkness into light. We gesture toward the newly painted white siding gleaming against the mountains. Feels like we’re speaking light again, doesn’t it? Cool mountain air sweeps in, carrying the scent of thawing earth. We stop beneath the cross and whisper from memory God saying, “Behold, I make all things new.” The garden is never far from our thoughts. The pastors of the 43 churches speak of revival services to come, of guest preachers, choir specials, and altars that will once again hold kneeling burdens. We pray for prodigal sons and weary saints. We pray for fields ready for planting, thinking about Jesus’ words in John that the fields are white unto harvest (both crops and souls).  Outside, redbuds bloom like scattered embers along the hillsides. The Blue Ridge seems to hum with quiet expectation. Spring in Ashe County doesn’t come suddenly. It unfolds patiently, like Scripture itself—line upon line, promise upon promise. Its message is clear death does not have the last word. Winter does not reign forever. Beginning in April some churches gather for a United Revival Service. Cars wind up gravel roads. Children chase one another between gravestones that bear the names of founders long gone but not forgotten. Inside, the sanctuary fills with song “Because He Lives” rising strong against wooden rafters. Our Lord has much to say about gardens from Garden of Eden to this very hillside. He plants hope. He brings life from what looks dead every spring and He reminds us of His promise. Amens echo like rolling thunder. When the invitation is given, people come forth for salvation or recommitment, some simply come to kneel in gratitude. Outside, the last light of day settles soft and golden over the Blue Ridge Mountains. A breeze stirs budding branches. In that quiet Appalachian corner, the 43 churches understand something deeply rooted. Spring is not just a season. It is a promise written from Genesis to Revelation. A promise that God restores, that faith can bloom again. What was damaged by winter can be repaired by grace. As we sweep out sanctuaries and mend broken boards, we are also tending souls—preparing fertile ground for the Spirit to move, for in every mountain hollow and every white-clapboard church, Spring Revival is in the air.   

                                                           Your Servant, David