This is part of my Rest Stop series. Contemplative posts that find God in everyday moments—from Monday morning coffee to changing seasons. Published midweek, these brief reflections provide spiritual nourishment when you need a pause in your spiritual journey. You can read others by pressing this button:
The alarm went off the other morning. Still pitch black outside. I lay there trying to summon the will to pray the way I should. Nothing came. Just the awareness that it was only January 19th and winter stretches on for weeks yet.
I got up anyway. Made coffee. Opened my Bible app. Read words I've read countless times that meant nothing that day. Prayed to the ceiling, knowing the next day would feel entirely different. Then I went about my day, carrying the small, quiet, guilt of someone who knows they should feel more than they do.
If you're there too, you're not alone.
The January Doldrums
Christmas is over. Advent’s anticipation has passed. You've taken down the decorations. The new year optimism has already faded into the reality of dark mornings and grey bleakness of British January.
Everyone at work seems fine. You don't mention it, and the loneliness compounds the dryness.
This is winter. Not just weather but spiritual season. And it's brutal in ways that are hard to name.
What Winter Is
This isn't only Seasonal Affective Disorder—though if that's your struggle, see your GP. They can help. Sometimes, the soul experiences winter regardless of external circumstances. The psalmists knew it. Jesus faced it in the wilderness and again in Gethsemane.
John of the Cross called it the "dark night of the soul"—not God's absence but God's presence felt as absence. The Spanish mystic insisted this darkness was formative, not failure. God works in winter, just underground where we can't see.
Julian of Norwich wrote "all shall be well" from an anchorhold during plague and isolation. Her hope came through winter, not around it.
Think of nature in January. Trees that look dead are resting. Seeds underground are growing. Rest isn't death. It's hidden growth.
What if your spiritual winter is the same? What if God is present in the unfelt darkness, working in ways you won't recognise until spring?
What Winter Teaches
Winter strips away what makes you feel close to God. When you keep showing up to pray despite feeling nothing, you discover what's underneath. Do you love God, or do you love feeling good about loving God?
This is harder faith. Truer faith. Trust that transcends feeling. Obedience when there's no emotional reward. Presence when you'd rather be anywhere else.
That's not failure. That's formation.
A Practice for Winter
Tonight, light one candle during prayer. Not for mood but as defiance against darkness. Then sit in silence for five minutes. Don't demand feelings or insights. Don't apologise for dryness. Just be there.
Or pray Psalm 13:
"How long, O Lord? Will you forget me for ever?"
God can handle your honesty about winter. Maybe winter is exactly where He wants to meet you—not despite the darkness, but within it.