It’s not my favorite season. Of them all, I like it least. Winter is cold with daylight short and landscapes bare. January especially seems to stretch long with dreary days. Some seek escape and fly south, and some bundle up to enjoy the snow. Over the years I have learned to savor this time of rest, find beauty in snow-laden trees, and embrace a slower pace. 

Though the garden looks lifeless, it is but dormant; asleep; resting. Roots have gathered enough nutrients and water for the cold winter and will sustain until temperatures begin to warm once again. This is how I winter. 

A time for rest; a time for slowing down and gathering strength. After a very busy season of Christmas merriment, I feel a bit depleted. As a new year begins, it seems a good time to establish a wintering routine - more reading, more cozy nights, more candle glow, and more tea. 

January is also a time for planning, and I am using this down time to look ahead at the coming months and put ideas down on paper. I am excited about what 2026 will look like for the shoppe, and I’m taking steps to create a better life balance. I will share it all soon, but for now, I am still in recovery mode. 

If you struggle to thrive in winter, know that it’s ok to be still; to rest and reflect. Seek beauty in the outdoors; let the cold air revitalize you when you step outside. Our roots run deep and will sustain us until the weather warms. For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven (Ecclesiastes 3:1). Let's find joy in winter, for even this is gift. 

The sun sets early now as daylight shortens. It’s still my favorite time of day. Watching the plants backlit by sun during the ‘golden hour’ is a simple pleasure that fills me, even on a day such as this. Ornamental grasses wave in the breeze, trees out the window release their golden leaves one by one. Another day, another week, another season . 

It's been a challenging season. Can you relate? What do we do when we receive one more diagnosis, another life limitation, or suffering that lingers? What do we say when God asks us to carry one more burden, or we wait another day for direction, a sign, an arrow? How do we keep going without losing hope? 

We pray, and we seek, hunting for the simplest of blessings - like golden hour sunsets, the laughter of children down the street, this warm cup of tea in my hand . . . the gratitude list begins again. I know each is a gift, and this really is a life of abundance, but easy to lose sight of when overwhelmed with life.

And we trust - God’s wisdom, His faithfulness, and His plan for us. No matter where He leads,we can follow with that assurance.

In Deuteronomy, Moses blesses the tribes of Israel, and when he came to Zebulun, he said,    
  “Rejoice, Zebulun, in your going out . . . 
   feast on the abundance of the seas, 
   on the treasures hidden in the sand.”      
   Deuteronomy 33:19

God always provides in abundance. It may look different than what we ask for, and it might be hidden like those treasures in the sand, but its so worth digging for them right where we are. 

May grace and peace be yours in abundance (I Peter 1:2) 

Out the kitchen window, the sky slowly awakens. From darkness to soft pinks to bright blues. I love watching the sunrise. Every morning a new painting.  
 
Days begin early for me, and that is by design. The fullness of my schedule is heavy, but rising before the sun, I have an hour for me. Starting the morning this way helps me navigate the rest of the day. But it's not always enough. Life can be a bit much at times. The schedule too full, the demands too great, the news too depressing, and time moving too fast. . . 

So this morning, in darkness, I light a candle. Sitting quiet, I breathe in deeply, exhale slowly. Then I listen. The beautiful words of Psalm 23 fill the room . . . 

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
    He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
    he refreshes my soul.

I meditate on this. What a peaceful picture that is painted - green pastures, quiet waters. Images of a flower-filled meadow and a nearby stream come to mind. I feel the stress begin to melt away. 

The words so calming, I listen to the entire Psalm three times. Yes, this refreshes my soul.  

It’s the lenten season and I know this rhythm well. The familiar songs sung from grateful hearts, the cross-focused words draw thought and at times tears. But Sundays in lent hold a lighter tone - islands of refreshment as someone coined them. That’s what this moment is. An island of much needed refreshment. 

Many of you are walking through a valley right now - losing a loved one, carrying for aging parents, weathering a storm of illness. Remember, you don’t walk it alone. Our Good Shepherd walks beside us, guiding us along right paths, and refreshing our souls. Some find refreshment in traveling to an actual island, escaping the stresses of life for awhile. But these few moments of quiet meditation can refresh the soul. 

It’s the end of the psalm that puts life back into perspective . . . 

You anoint my head with oil;
    my cup overflows.
Surely your goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Instead of stressed, I feel blessed. My life overflows with blessings and the hope of heaven is best of all. 

This soul refreshment is more urgent and more important than anything else on my schedule. When life overwhelms, I hope you’ll make time for yourself - to find refreshment. If you’d like to practice a little meditation like I did, all you need is a quiet room, a candle, and a heart ready to be still. You can listen to Psalm 23 here. 

Praying for you, friend. ​

"When can I have my life back?"

It's 5 am on a cold Sunday morning in March,  and I find myself flat on my back on the driveway. 
There are a few events that led me to this position and to this question:
- A few weeks ago, our youngest son who is 24, arrived at the shoppe with a German Shepherd puppy, happy as I've ever seen him. 
- The next day, I heard myself saying, Yes, as he asked if the puppy could stay with us for awhile. He hadn't exactly thought things through and needed time to figure things out. 
- I've forgotten how demanding and exhausting the training of a puppy can be, and how small their bladders are. So when she whines at 5 am, I hit auto pilot: shoes on, coat on, leash on, out the door. It must be urgent as she darts out like a bullet. In an instant I'm flat on my back on the driveway which is a sheet of ice. My head hits the cement pretty hard. 

Bewildered, I first think of the leash. Still in hand. Thank God. 
I feel the back of my head with my other hand and look for blood. None. Thank God again. 
I lay there for a moment staring at the dark sky, puppy licking my face. 
​When can I have my life back?

A few days later, I listened to a podcast by Emily P Freeman. She talks about life's interruptions and how to find peace in handling them. 
Tears fall fast. It feels good to cry. 
This puppy is definitely an interruption to my quiet, daily routines, but I know its more than the puppy that's triggering these tears. There's a bigger life change that is emotionally exhausting and difficult to accept as my new reality. 

When can I have my life back? When can there be time for me and my needs? 
​Have you ever found yourself asking that question? 
If we think about it, our life is made up of interruptions. They look different as we move through our stages of life: 
the demands of our children, the needs of a sick loved one, caring for our aging parents. . . Others before ourselves - isn't that what we are called to do -  live a life of service? Yes, but when the interruptions are not ones that we chose, not what we had planned, and are forced upon us - those are the ones that can lead to this question: When can I have my life back? Maybe we are the ones who are ill and find our life looking so different than what we had planned. As hard as it is to understand, even those are given to us for a purpose. 

CS Lewis writes: “The great thing if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s own or real life. The truth is of course, that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life, the life God is sending one day by day.” 

Those last words "the life God is sending one day by day" - oh how I need to be reminded of this. It's like manna that God sent the Israelites. That daily bread from heaven nourished and sustained them while they wandered in the desert, but they quickly grew tired of it, and began to complain. Manna means 'What is this?' If I'm honest with myself, when I ask the question 'When can I have my life back?' I'm really saying, 'What is this? I'm tired of what you are giving, God." The truth is that He gives us what we need, not what we want, and it's always for our good. Always. 

So then give me the strength and patience every day so I can handle this life of manna. And he does. 

The French composer, Claude Debussy wisely said, "Music is the space between the notes". "There's meaning, depth, richness, in the interval, in the rest, in the silence. The silence is necessary for the notes to be music. Otherwise, it’s just a lot of noise. Our pauses, our solitudes, our quiet respite is necessary for our interruptions to be our lives." Emily says in her podcast. 

The space between the notes is necessary - we need that time of rest and solitude. Time for me. Time for you. And may I offer this suggestion - the space between the notes can be one of peace. Finding peace in the interruptions, knowing that God sees you and holds you in his strong, ever-present hands, is possible and is a comfort. His plan is holy and perfect. 

The road may be long and you and I may be weary, but don't give up. I find this quote to be helpful:
"Occasionally weep deeply over the life you hoped would be. Grieve the losses. Then wash your face. Trust God. And embrace the life you have." - John Piper

"Mostly we need you, lovely embodied you, showing up to your life as it is and not as you wish it to be, able to admit what you need and what you want. You, honest about what you miss and about what you long for. You, celebrating this right now moment. And in all of this you can be sure there is a divine presence, a holy harmony, a welcoming acceptance of the whole colorful mess." - Emily P. Freeman

We are not alone. May we find peace in the interruptions and joy in the space in between. 

PS
- Thankfully I did not have a concussion when I hit my head on the cement. 
- The puppy is potty trained and now happily living in her new home. 
- Here's a link to Emily's podcast: emilypfreeman.com/podcast/267/ 
- or you can read it here: 
​https://emilypfreeman.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/The-Next-Right-Thing-Ep.-267.pdf

Of course, it would snow. . .

Not a soft, pretty snow with flakes gently descending from the heavens.
No, it was during a winter snowstorm that we moved from our home of 22 years out in the country into a smaller house in town. Fortunately, the bulk of our possessions had been moved five days earlier with the help of family and friends. But now, as the snow quickly accumulated on the ground, we frantically packed the last of the boxes into the U-Haul. The trip down our steep, icy driveway would be stressfully packed with prayers, as well, that we make it down safely. This is not how I wanted to say goodbye to this lovely place, to my home where we raised our kids, to the gardens that I planted where I know each plant by name . . .

That morning’s winter storm reflected the chaos going on inside me, overwhelming sadness mixed with a touch of excitement of the unknown that lay ahead, the stress that comes with moving, the late nights of packing, lying awake in early morning hours with endless lists running through my head, and trying to keep it all together with a trust that God will make it all work out – it was an avalanche of emotion that I’ve never experienced before.

After a harrowing 30-minute trip on snow-covered roads to where we would close on the house, I was able to catch my breath. We sat in the office waiting our turn, and I got a text from our daughter who had been at the house with our son packing the U-Haul. It was a video she had taken of the snowscape that surrounded the woods on the property. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Tears welled up yet again – how I will miss those trees – watching them change through the seasons. They were the first thing I saw every morning when I opened my eyes to gaze out uncurtained windows. Fresh spring leaves unfurling, summer green canopies, glorious autumn hues, and graceful bare branches outlined in snow like right now. And I had missed it this morning – blindly consumed with the details of moving. 

It was then that it struck me - even amidst all the chaos going on around and inside of me, there is something beautiful happening that God is orchestrating. It’s his perfect plan for me – I take a deep breath in. His love and presence is constant - I exhale slowly.  It was he who led us here to this place years ago – inhale deeply, and filled it with love, joy, tears – all of them blessings. Exhale. He goes before me once again, leading me – inhale. And I follow, knowing that he will make this move something beautiful, too. Slow exhale.

It’s been almost a week now, and already that emotional day is but a memory. The lessons I’m learning of trusting God, letting go, embracing change, and seeing beauty where you least expect it, those will stay with me as this new chapter unfolds. I miss waking up to the wooded view out my window, but I’m so grateful that I was given that gift for a while. The trees have taught me to carry something with me through every season of life – and that’s joy. There’s a passage in the Bible that says, “You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.” – Isaiah 55:12

God is writing a symphony. All of this – the struggles, the joy, the tears, the laughter, He’s weaving it all together into a beautiful symphony that I’m blessed to call my life. And right now, in the beginning of this new movement, I’m being led forth in peace and, like the trees, I will joyfully clap my hands.