Hush now, soul; you’ve worked so long
Go soft into the light
Your Father makes you safe and strong
Release your need to fight
The snow is falling gently now
In blankets all around
Your world will yawn and whisper how
It longs to settle down
Broad clouds are strewn high up above
A canopy dark grey
Gauzy, woolly, thick with love
Stitched loose with dreams of day
A golden hour awaits you, soul
When once you’ve taken rest
So stretch and burrow, holy, whole,
With countless mercies blessed
Slip ‘neath the waves of coming sleep
Give in and fully slumber
You’ll wake tomorrow from the deep
With widened eyes of wonder
May this season of new beginnings and snowy mounds drift quiet upon your heart. Wrestle the rest you need—the white space, the downtime, the holy liturgy of naps—from that grasping calendar that refuses to be satisfied. Allow me to remind you that we no longer serve a god of emptiness. Let’s plan to emerge from winter with strength in our hearts and muster in our souls, the kind that only accompanies embracing the courageous limits of the kingdom. In a world consumed with itself, in which “enough” is a foreign concept, we can embody a sacred pause. Settle down. Take a sabbath. Cozy up. Come awake to the beckoning presence of God. His smile over you is wide, wide, wide, and it cannot come undone. Hush now, soul; you’ve worked so long.
How are you being invited to rest?
The Dwelling Place 
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