I can’t be the only one who has an existential struggle with winter year after year. It’s nice for the month of December, when there’s reminders of the joy of Christ’s birth at every turn, but when the tree comes down, and the Christmas lights turn off, suddenly everything seems bleak. The days are short, the cold is inescapable, and all the songbirds that cheer us on from spring through fall have wisely chosen to go somewhere tropical. For me, winter is the hardest season.
But there’s always something isn’t there? We hate the Spring in the moment because our allergies ail us. The Summer time is hot, too hot. And Fall is when all of the lush greenery comes to screeching halt. When the days are lengthy, we yearn for dark, cool evenings. When the days are short, we crave more sunshine. We always look forward to the next season, thinking that perhaps this time around it could fulfill our aching hearts. But nothing will pacify our insatiable displeasure like the Gospel and the Truth of Scripture.
We’re finite creatures sustained by the infinite God. When the miracle of salvation takes place in an individual, there’s suddenly a shift in how we view time. Death is no longer the end. This life is penultimate. However, during this soul-shift of perspective, we are still creatures of habit; we still long for the next thing—the best thing.