What The Winter Holds
Back in September, a woman who I had never met and who knows nothing about me handed me a book that she was giving me to read, and inside of it, there was a note that read this:
They will be called Oaks of righteousness. A planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor. Isaiah 61:3b
I believe Jesus wants you to know that he made you strong. That you are rooted in good soil. He made you on purpose. This season may be a winter one, but you have become strong and established, and you can weather the season. Don’t lose heart; spring is coming. Trust Him, and don’t be afraid...you are not alone.
I’ll be honest; I’ve had mixed experiences with prophetic words. I firmly believe God still speaks, namely through His word, in creation, and through people. Growing up in the Catholic Church, it was new for me to learn that my communication with God didn’t have to go through a third party. And that third parties can be fallible. That’s not the point of this letter, though. These words were so unexpected and resonated with me so deeply that I knew they had to be from God.
Last year, I came out of the gates swinging in the new year. Not in a “this is the year of world domination” kind of way, but in a way that I knew my assignment, and I was to go looking for the new things He was doing.
Do not remember the past events, pay no attention to things of old. Look, I am about to do something new, Do you not see it? Indeed, I will make a way in the wilderness, rivers in the desert.
Isaiah 43:18-19
“Do you not see it?” This question is what grabbed me. It became the lens through which I saw the world around me. In many ways, this was an easy, even exciting charge. I’m wired in such a way to look for beauty and recognize God's providence, even when that hasn’t come easy. If I were to pick a life verse, it would be this:
I would have lost heart unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Psalm 27:13
You can't unsee the goodness of the Lord. And once you've seen it, you notice it everywhere. It lives inside our suffering and our victory. Its present in our coming and our going. It is peace in stormy seas and courage in the face of unknown. It's in all four seasons. And much to my surprise, it seems to be loudest in the winter.
A Winter Season
It is smack dab in the middle of winter as I write this. I’m no stranger to winters. I grew up in Southern Oregon, where the snow would fall in November, and as if we didn’t have enough, it would often snow in the spring, too. The winters are often grey where I live now, but temperatures, even in January, can be mild. That has been the case this year.
I have been taking a familiar walk for the past month or so, and to be honest, it has felt like a friend. The other day I took my camera with me so I could look back on this time of my life and remember where I have been. The truth is, just as the note that I was given in September said, this season has been a winter one, one that I haven’t been able to put words to fully. And when I can’t put words to what I am going through, I go looking for clues. Step-by-step, day-by-day, I have been exploring this question. What is it that the winter holds? It comforts me that some of the most critical work in our lives is done in the winter. It’s far beneath the ground where we are established. It’s where our battles are fought, where our hope is secured. It’s what we can point back to when we are hard-pressed on all sides.
I wonder what your story holds in its roots? If you aren’t prone to considering that, I tend to believe it is worth your time to pause. You may be surprised at how far you have come even if it doesn’t feel like it.
I’ve thought about what I wish to write to you this month. The honest truth is that there is much waiting in the wings for our family. My winter season has been met with decisions that aren’t allowing me to stay in the dark. As cryptic as that may sound, it’s the kindness of the Lord that will sometimes let us to get to the end of ourselves and the same kindness that will show us a way out.
Much of what I have been exploring recently is the idea beginning—and beginning again. The sun rises each morning, and so do brand-new mercies. I will forever be grateful for a gracious God who sets reminders for us in the sky.
As much as we talk about beginning well, I believe we do a grave disservice by not addressing our endings. In 1998, the band Semisonic released a song called Closing Time and made famous the words of the Philosopher Seneca. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”
Not all of the words in that song are wholesome. But this line is one that often circulates in my head. I can look back at the past four months that have felt heavy with some clarity. I can now see God's sovereignty in allowing some things that needed to end to come to the surface. I was reminded by a trusted friend the other day that we are simply clay in the potter’s hand and that trusting the potter to shape us is not always easy and almost always painful.
At this moment, I’m finding myself near some endings and at the possibility of a few significant beginnings. Where does that leave me? With a whole lot of unknown. In these moments, I borrow from history. I remember the goodness of the Lord, and then refocus my eyes to the present. My assignment wasn’t just for last year. God is continually doing a new thing. Do we not see it?
Instead of wrapping this up in a bow, I thought it might be fitting to invite you on the walk I have been taking. I notice something new each time, but a few things always stand out.
The Stubborn Tree
I have affectionately called this the stubborn tree. At first glance, you might call it strong, refusing to give into the season, providing some color in a sea of what looks dead. When the sun hits it just right, its leaves look gold. I can relate to this tree; holding onto something that died a long time ago—not allowing time to do its work, proudly displaying something incongruent with flourishing.
Walking past this tree, I have been asking this question.
What do you need to let go of to make room for something new?
The Path Leading To Somewhere
I must have walked this trail fifty times. It’s not the main path, and I find myself tempted to walk past it every time for something a little less muddy, a little more smooth, and not so out of the way. My pace goes down on this trail, and my senses go up. I forget about accumulating steps and lean into curiosity. I know where this path leads, of course. But in a time when we have more questions than answers, I’m comforted to know that I don’t need to see the end to take the next step.
A still small voice whispers this to me on this trail.
What courageous next step do you need to take today?
Too Soon, Tulips
An unseasonably warm January has sent you the message to bloom. I’ll admit, you were a delight to my eyes in a sea of brown, but my senses tell me you may be covered in a blanket of snow before we see the spring. I can’t say I blame them for reaching for the warmer weather. Seventy degrees in January has had me longing for spring, too.
What would they say if these tulips could talk?
Embrace the winter, dear one. Something beautiful is developing underground.
________
Maybe you can relate in the new year. Perhaps you wading in the waters of the unknown. If that's you—me too. When I don't have the answers I find comfort in taking a walk. And if you do, ask the Lord to show you His goodness in the land of the living. I have a sneaky suspicion you will find it.
So good as always
I am facing a season of change and unknowns as well and I honestly hate it. Beautiful thoughts for seasons of confusion or doubt.