Weathering Winter
Note: This piece was originally published in Our Story Magazine, Winter 2024 Edition.
“In the Bleak Midwinter” brings a smile when it crosses my Christmas playlist.1 The hymn was one of my dad’s favorites. Its somber beautiful tones evoke stillness and simplicity—a push against the busyness that the holidays tend to bring. What I love most about the song is its depiction of Christ’s arrival amidst the most barren of seasons.
“Therefore, the Lord himself will give you a sign:
The virgin will conceive, have a son, and name him Immanuel.”
(Isaiah 7:14, HCSB).
I can still recall my own barren season. I remember sharing with my dad the news that a marriage had iced over. “We’ll deal with this and move on down the road,” he said, bringing encouragement amidst my chaos. I remember the struggle to find footing on “home” soil that, after seven years, felt foreign. I remember helping my kids navigate through so much new and pushing back tears as I drove through dark mornings to a new job. A few months later, Dad’s health began to decline. Frigid winds cut me to the bone the day we buried him.
What now, Lord? How long, Lord?
I stumbled through all the “firsts” as life crept from one bleak day to the next. Time seemed frozen—a perpetual winter. I found it difficult to find joy, especially during the weeks of Advent and Christmas—those sacred celebrations I’d loved since childhood. Church pews once familiar, felt strangely cold. Family gatherings seemed like empty rooms where all I could hear were the sounds of my own shallow breathing.
“But in my distress,
I cried out to the LORD;
yes, I prayed to my God for help.
He heard me from his sanctuary;
my cry to him reached his ears.”
(Psalm 18:6, NLT)
Biblical timelines indicate that Jesus’ birth happened on the heels of a long pause. With no new prophecies or revelations, the voice of God had gone quiet. For the Israelites, this stretch of time must have seemed like winter on their insides. Some 400 years earlier, they had offered up the lengthiest prayer recorded in the Bible. We can almost hear the groans and tears that must have accompanied their final words. “We are in great distress,” they moaned (Nehemiah 9:37 HCSB). Indeed, this was a people in misery. Yet their El Roi had not looked away. Had not forgotten them. After four silent centuries, came God’s reply: A baby’s cry. Flowing from a feeding trough out into a fallen world. How Heaven must have held its breath as this Baby breathed His first.
“The Word became flesh and took up residence among us.”
(John 1:14a, HCSB)
My winter sent me sinking into Scripture where I mined treasures from wrinkled pages—verses to stuff and store within my soul. As I traveled the Book from cover to cover, God revealed His nearness. His words saved my sanity and kept me from slipping. Immanuel carried me out of the frozen wasteland into a place of warmth where Living Water quenched my thirst and Bread satisfied my hunger. Where I danced with my First Love and where the Light of the World stirred a heart that had slowed its beating. Winter didn’t go away right away, but His presence gave me strength to persevere.
Perhaps this season—amidst the beauty of lights, decorations, music, laughter and such—you’re facing a winter of your own. Something on the outside has you gripped on the inside. Maybe it’s terrible news you’ve received. Maybe you’re battling an illness, a job disruption or financial disaster. Maybe a close friendship has ended, a child has wandered or a marriage is crumbling. Perhaps the death of a loved one has left a chair empty. Maybe life events have left you feeling numb, overwhelmed by expectations as you wander aimlessly through holiday activities you’d rather avoid.
Whatever it is you're weathering, may simple reminders of Jesus’ birth ignite hope in your heart. May you find comfort in knowing that you are seen and God is near. Your Immanuel longs to lift you out of the cold and carry you into the warmth, where there’s no doing expected, just being. Being with the One who loves you so.
Every once in a while, I pull out the Bible I read from back then. I listen to the turning of its thin pages, run fingers across paper crinkled and worn by time. Scriptures that sustained me then, sustain me still, through all seasons. Oh, how His Word waters our souls, gently thaws our ice-covered hearts, and draws us near to the One Who’s still writing our stories.
May you and I continue to be awed at the fact that God set foot on our fallen earth. May we walk our days knowing He walks them with us. And may we face our winters with hope, knowing the hour is coming when we will be with Him, forever.
“I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, ‘Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”
(Revelation 21:3–4 NLT)
1Words by Christina G. Rossetti, 1872; Music by Gustav Holst, 1906
Click here to hear “In the Bleak Midwinter” performed by Keith and Kristyn Getty, live at the Grand Ole Opry House, 2019.
