Gifts of the Season ❄

Finding joy in winter.

Welcome, friend! I'm so glad you're here.

We don’t get much snow in this part of the world, but this January, we’ve had it in abundance. Big, fat flakes have clustered together and turned everything white. There’s something so hopeful about fresh fallen snow. All the dirt and brokenness gets covered over and the winter light, usually in such short supply, glances off each snow crystal, intensifying and refracting it everywhere. Blankets of untouched snow grace the ground and everything becomes new and beautiful again, at least for a while.
 
When you don’t see snow very often you have to make the most of it, so everyone races out to play while it lasts.  Children and parents shriek in delight as they careen down hills on sledges. Cynical teenagers return to childhood for a while as they throw snowballs at each other and compete to build the biggest snowman. Dogs yap and frolic in the white powder as their owners hurry after them, smiling and rosy-cheeked in the bracing air. In a year when we have been so separated from each other, the snow has been a welcome gift, bringing us back together in simple, communal joy.
 
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The snow transforms the view from my window, too. Bare winter trees create a mini forest, their branches laden with white icing, and I feel like I’ve stepped into C.S. Lewis’s Narnia.  If I look hard enough, I can almost make out the faint glow from a lamppost in the distance.
 
I keep thinking about the part of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe where Father Christmas brings everyone gifts. Peter receives a sword and shield, Susan a bow and arrow, and a horn to call for help, Lucy a dagger and a healing cordial. Mrs Beaver is gifted a new sewing machine and Mr Beaver finds his dam has been mended, while other creatures are given food and drink enough for a party.
 
To me, these gifts speak of healing and creativity, rest and sustenance, vulnerability and courage. These are precisely the gifts we need to survive the long, cold nights of winter. I think about how Jesus tells us to ask, and we will receive, and I wonder which gifts I might ask for.
 
Father, help me make space for moments of rest and play in my day.
Father, give me the courage I need to be vulnerable and ask for help when I need it.
Father, help me find ways to feed my soul.
Father, call out creativity in me and lead me back towards wholeness.
Father, help me to pursue healing and justice in your world.
 
These prayers feel comfortable in my mouth and in my soul. They still my mind and anchor my heart. They remind me that God is still at work in the winter time, nourishing not the temporary, seen things, but what is unseen and eternal. They call me to self-compassion, a reflection of the Father’s compassion for me.
 
When we ask God the Father for our daily bread, he does not hand us a heavy stone of shame for needing help. He does not despise us because we can’t make it on our own. God the Father knows our needs before we ask, understands that we are weary and fragile on some days, and that we need his love and sustenance every day. God does not call us to a life of independence, but interdependence, with himself, and with others. His gifts have no ulterior motive, no sting in the tail, no conditions attached. He gives us what we need to survive the darkest of seasons, because he is good and faithful and kind, even on the days we can’t see it and don't feel it.
 
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The snow has not lasted, of course. It has melted into dirty, muddy slush. Winter is not yet over and the transition to spring will be bumpy at best. There will be many days ahead of unsettled weather and unsteady hearts. The darkness is real and the grief is, too. But this we have as our deep and abiding hope: we have a kind, loving father who meets us moment by moment with what we need to live with open hands and open hearts, to move towards justice and peace and healing, and to find moments of pure joy, even here in the depths of winter.
 

Reading Recommendations

I've just finished Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times, by Katherine May. It read a lot more like a memoir than I was expecting from the title, but it was a compelling and enjoyable read, none-the-less, and May has much wisdom to share.

If you need something lighter and brighter to while away some pandemic hours, I'd love to suggest The Diary of Isabella M. Sugge, written by my friend, Ruth Leigh. It's out for pre-order and so I haven't read it yet - but I'm really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy!

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Sending you love from Narnia,
Abby