Winter

Father,

This morning the light shines through the mote-covered glass panes sending rays through the broken slats of the blind. I love the light, Father.

My soul dreams of spring. In the midst of frigid temperatures, of mercury dipping below the zero, I yearn for days of green and light and sunshine and color. I look out of the window now and I see a monochromatic landscape. Barren and dormant. And I feel my soul shriveling. Shrinking.

Father, I feel the center of me spiraling down to a small, small tight center.

I understand that winter must come. And we must walk through it. Winter comes in so many ways: when motivation is lagging. When enthusiasm wanes. When eagerness is dampened. When best efforts seem to produce so little.

Father, I struggle through this season. My focus is haphazard at best—completely non-existent at worst. My sap has ceased to rise up the trunk of me. Slowed to an immeasurable crawl. And not only does my body slow, but my mind is slow, dulled.

Father, I pray for me. I pray for all of us to allow you to work through the winter of us. I pray you would use this season to strengthen us. To fortify us. To thicken the bark on our trunk. I pray you would help us remember you have not ceased to work simply because we can’t detect growth.

Help us to trust you even in these barren places. Nothing is barren to you, Father. You see the beyond—you see the foliage of the next season. You see the dormant growth that will emerge. You see the fruit that will be produced from now empty branches. You see the abundance that will come from what seems like drought and famine now.

I ask for your help, Father. Carry us through this season. Remind us that it is just a season. Spring will come. Just help us to trust in you and your silent invisible work until then.

Amen