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?