Winter’s Cold Will End: The Promise of Spring
A Note to the Reader: This article contains a mention of seasonal depression and suicide. If you need to protect your heart, consider clicking away instead of reading on.
I sneak out the back door in the early morning. Darkness still hovers over the earth just before light overcomes it. The biting cold sends a shiver through my body and my lips grow numb. Before me, everything seems barren, lifeless. Each brown branch of a tree is visible, intermingling in a way that mimics smoke. Even the squirrels disappear against the gray of winter. The only bright object in sight is my coral puffer coat and the occasional porch light.
I’ve gotten used to the freezing temperature on my morning walks. I only occasionally allow myself to long for days that begin in the brightness of dawn under the hot summer sun, views of wildflowers, leaves waving in the wind.
At the start of this year, I jokingly texted a few friends, “Happy New year! Welcome to the sad, gloomy winter months where there are no longer Christmas lights to make it feel brighter.” While a joke, it speaks to the reality of the gloom this season can carry, as the darkness lingers and the cold bites.
Don’t you feel it—the longing for light, for warmth, for newness, for spring?
“God alone is the one who makes all things new, and we see evidence of that in the season of spring.”
When Winter Lingers Long
According to the American Psychiatric Association, seasonal depression (SAD) affects “about 5 percent of adults in the U.S.” and lasts around “40 percent of the year.” Maybe you sit among that 5 percent. Even if you don’t, most of us find ourselves longing for winter to end and spring to begin. We ache for the heat of the sun to thaw our skin. Our eyes want to see seeds sprout from the ground; we want to touch freshly-bloomed tulips and smell the pink peonies that line our neighbors yard. It seems, when winter lingers long, souls grow weary.
I once knew a man who left his child’s sport’s game, drove his truck out to the woods, and took his own life there. He left behind a wife, three children, and grief so heavy you could almost hear the earth groan beneath it. It was the year that seemed like spring would never come. The sun hadn’t shone for weeks and the cold, gray had stretched far into April. At the funeral, I remember hearing whispers of “seasonal depression” and how “winter had killed him.” Maybe it had. All I know is it felt like everyone was letting out a collective weary prayer:
God, please usher in spring. We are breaking like branches clothed in ice.
The sun came out and brought along its warmth just a week later. If only it had come a little sooner, I speculated.
Psalm 147 declares that God “gives snow like wool; he scatters frost like ashes. He hurls down his crystals of ice like crumbs; who can stand before his cold?” (16–17). Have you ever opened your door on a frigid winter day where the wind bites like a snake? Yesterday, I stepped outside for less than a minute with no shoes on. The cold from the concrete seeped into my toes; it was only after wrapping them in a heating pad for ten minutes that they returned to their normal temperature. Who can stand before his cold? Not me.
But in the verse that follows, we find a sprinkle of hope: “He sends out his word, and melts them; he makes his wind blow and the waters flow” (v. 18). The icy winter will melt; the warmth and rain of spring will return. And this is a picture of how Jesus will end the ultimate winter—the winter of life living in a fallen world, afflicted by sin. One day soon, Jesus Christ will bring to fruition all that he has promised.
The Glowing Edge of Spring
There is beauty in the white snow covering every tree, home, and street. The peaceful silence it spreads across the earth points us to the peace of Christ. Yet, we would be remiss to pretend that winter’s dormancy doesn’t also point us to spiritual truths. When once-bright zinnias shrivel and brown in the first frost, we are reminded of death. When every leaf falls from the tree in our backyard, we see the effects of death. The reality of dying and decay is undeniable.
But then, the bright purple of a hyacinth presses up through the snow and reaches for the sky, and our winter-weary eyes are directed to the truth of the resurrection. God says, “Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (Isa. 43:18–19). God alone is the one who makes all things new (Rev. 21:5), and we see evidence of that in the season of spring. It is he who causes the seed to send roots into the ground, and it is he who deepens our roots in him. He makes the pear tree blossom and causes us to bear good fruit. He is the God of the resurrection, the Creator, the bringer of new life, and the changer of hearts.
So we join the song with Andrew Peterson, and kneel…
“At the bright edge of the garden,
at the golden edge of dawn,
at the glowing edge of spring,
when the winter's edge is gone.
And I can see the color green;
I can hear the sower's song.” (“The Sower’s Song,” Andrew Peterson)
And we abide. We abide in him, knowing he is holding us fast even in the darkest, longest, most excruciating winter of our lives. Truly, our suffering is momentary compared to what awaits us with him in glory (2 Cor. 4:17–18).
Groaning with Creation
My dog comes in from our backyard every winter night, her fur cold to the touch. She shivers and curls into a tight ball atop a nest of blankets, letting out a heavy sigh. I snuggle next to her and sigh too. We groan together for winter to end.
Likewise, you and I are groaning together with creation for Christ to usher in the fullness of his kingdom, “as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies” (Rom. 8:22–23). God has promised this to his people and that is where our hope is found (Rom. 8:24–25). We know that just as the snow and rain fall from heaven to water the earth and bring a harvest, God’s Word will never return to him empty; It will accomplish all he has planned (Isa. 55:10–11).
As Andrew Peterson says, this is the “dark before the dawn.” But one day, Jesus will come back for us and on that day, all of creation will join in praise and celebration to the King:
“For you shall go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you
shall break forth into singing,
and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle;
and it shall make a name for the Lord,
an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.” (Isa. 55:12–13)
Spring is coming, friends. It always will until the earth passes away (Gen. 8:22). But more importantly, redemption is coming. All of those who are in Christ will soon be raised like tulips that spring forth from the hard dirt. We will meet our Savior in the clouds and he will clothe us in immortality (1 Cor. 15:54). Death will be no more (1 Cor. 15:54–57). Winter’s cold will end.
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