January might possibly be the bleakest month of all the year. It certainly is often a let-down after the chaos and busyness of December. As I referenced in an earlier post, “Secular Christmas, with its enthusiastic sparkles, dumps us into the cold gray of January. Christian joy is much weightier, more durable”.* It’s not just bleak either; at least here in northeast Ohio, there’s a particular barrenness that seems to creep across the landscape in January.
The picture-perfect illustration of this, in my mind, is one that was there in front of me just last week, as we received about a foot of snow over the course of several hours. Perhaps it’s most evident because of my location that’s more rural than most. A wide expanse of seemingly untouched snow stretched out before me, not even marred by salt residue from the plows or tire tracks from those few brave – or foolish – travelers who dared to venture out. There was nothing – at least at first glance. All was quiet, calm, still, bereft of movement. Bleak and barren.
That perception endured for a few hours, until after the snow actually stopped falling. Shortly afterwards, I noticed that it wasn’t completely barren. There was life out there after all, evidenced by a string of small footprints along the tree line. Then there was another from the woods down the last third of the driveway. And yet another track visible where something – a deer, I’m sure – made its way up the hill across the road. As I stood there at the window, I saw too the small movements that herald the arrival of the woodpeckers that yet frequent my woods.
I was reminded of the times of my life that all appeared barren and bleak. There have been times in which the signs of life or hope were pretty buried, sometimes for far longer than I would have preferred. However dire the situation, and however much I feared that all was lost, yet it was not so.
As not all is dead and gone in the midst of a snowy landscape, so perhaps next time, when I feel as though hope is lost, this will come to mind, and I will remember to wait with patience.
*The Weary World Rejoices, edited by Melissa Kruger, and published by The Gospel Coalition, print edition, p64
This is so true, and a beautiful image to consider. I agree that when we pray and it seems like nothing is happening, we can be still and alert to the small, quiet, often unnoticed movements around us and within us, as well as the daily March toward a beautiful Spring.
I agree with Sue’s comment. It also brings to mind 1 Kings 19:11-13 when Elijah was waiting on the Lord to speak to him. It wasn’t in the wind, earthquake or fire, just a still small voice.
As we look at all of the bleak and barrenness of our world, or even our hearts, we just need to listen to the still small voice that God uses to break through to us.
Thank you as always for sharing what God has shared with you!