As winter arrives, I want to delight in flickering candles, fuzzy socks, and good books. But my biology doesn’t seem to agree with the season, no matter how much I try to convince my mind of its charms. I spend these dark months fighting to stay alert longer than the sun’s low pass across the sky and wishing to be free of all the stifling, extra layers. Humans aren’t created to hibernate, but at the same time, it’s hard for some of us not to.
Sometimes my faith behaves the same way.
I don’t always notice autumn creeping into my religious life at first, a cooling of my heart toward my neighbor or an increasingly drowsy approach to spiritual practices. Other times, a blizzard barrels in with such a disorienting crisis, my faith gets buried before I can find my bearings. In times like these, I know better than to think my faith is gone. But it isn’t safely preserved, either, like something I’ve stuffed in the freezer. It’s more like the hibernating polar bear growing more emaciated as it sleeps beneath tundra snow. Without sustenance, it will die.
After a few spiritually dormant seasons, I’ve learned to identify choices I can make to melt the ice encasing my faith.
1. Remember. I may not be feeling much, but I can still decide how to use my mind. I ponder the gifts that belief has given me in the past, including a calmer way of seeing the world and less frenetic striving for meaningless things. What was I doing differently then than I’m doing now? How were my prayers more heartfelt? Why did I stop? Sometimes the truth is simple—I’m lazy. Other times the answer is more difficult: I’m angry.
2. Surrender. I believe God is good, so sometimes I pretend to be okay with His will—choosing aloofness over authenticity whenever life disappoints. I’ve had to learn that God is strong enough to handle my real feelings, even when they’re hurt, but I’m not strong enough to bury resentment. When I try, it doesn’t disappear. It grows cold and crusty around my heart. I have to acknowledge the baggage I don’t want to keep before I can surrender it.
3. Get a physical. Medical issues can cause the most vibrant faith to feel frozen. If I see no obvious changes in my life but feel blah toward God, I have to consider if I need a checkup. For years, I thought I was becoming weary in my faith when really my body was telling me it was allergic to everything I was eating. Since faith is lived in a physical body, it makes sense to nurture my health to keep faith alive.
4. Be mindful. When I sense my faith going cold, I try to notice the words I hear, think, and say. Too often I’ve become a passive absorber and repeater of noise. I can be a proactive sifter instead, noticing each word’s effects on me—which ones are enlivening and which ones benumb my believing heart.
5. Be still and trust. Writing from the perspective of a fictional adversary bent on faith’s destruction, Christian author C. S. Lewis penned: “Our cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do [God’s] will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys.”[i] Choosing faith, even when it’s frozen, is powerful. I know that as long as I’m listening for God’s voice, He’ll speak in His time. He understands better than I do that patience is a part of thawing faith too.
As much as it’s hard for me to admit, I know winter has a purpose. Through these cold months, I’ll pray, seek, and wait. If I’m still not feeling the warmth, I’ll light a few candles, cozy up with the best books and most truthful voices, and trust that spring will come.
[i] C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters (New York: HarperCollins, 2001), 40.
Kim Webb Reid is a fiction writer, personal essayist, and former magazine editor. She especially enjoys writing for young readers and visiting the kids’ section of the library with her daughter.
Abraham Lincoln is remembered as a man of honesty, courage, and kindness. What was he like when it came to religion? Was he a man of faith too?
Lincoln grew up in a Baptist family, but he was a skeptic, and though he later attended Protestant church services with his wife and children, he never joined any church. While his exact beliefs remain a bit of a mystery, Lincoln was often clear about his faith in a loving God who watches over His children.
The following messages, in Lincoln’s own words, teach us why looking to God should be as important to us today as it was to him then.
Don’t forget God.
On March 30, 1863, President Lincoln proclaimed a national day of prayer and fasting to be held the next month. He explained:
“We have been the recipients of the choicest bounties of Heaven; we have been preserved these many years in peace and prosperity; we have grown in numbers, wealth and power as no other nation has ever grown. But we have forgotten God. We have forgotten the gracious hand which has preserved us in peace and multiplied and enriched and strengthened us, and we have vainly imagined, in the deceitfulness of our hearts, that all these blessings were produced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own. …It behooves us, then, to humble ourselves before the offended power, to confess our national sins and to pray for clemency and forgiveness.”
Trust in His timing.
In the midst of the Civil War, Lincoln responded to a letter from Elizah P. Guerney, thanking her for her kind words and prayers.
“The purposes of the Almighty are perfect, and must prevail, though we erring mortals may fail to accurately perceive them in advance. We hoped for a happy termination of this terrible war long before this; but God knows best, and has ruled otherwise. We shall yet acknowledge His wisdom and our own error therein. Meanwhile, we must work earnestly in the best light He gives us, trusting that so working still conduces to the great ends He ordains. Surely He intends some great good to follow this mighty convulsion, which no mortal could make, and no mortal could stay.”
Pray to Him for guidance and peace.
Before the battle of Gettysburg, Lincoln hadn’t been worried. General Daniel E. Sickles, a participant in the battle, asked Lincoln why that was. He replied:
“Well, I will tell you how it was. In the pinch of your campaign up there, when everybody seemed panic-stricken and nobody could tell what was going to happen, oppressed by the gravity of our affairs, I went to my room one day and locked the door and got down on my knees before Almighty God and prayed to him mightily for victory at Gettysburg. I told Him that this war was His, and our cause His cause, but we could not stand another Fredericksburg or Chancellorsville. … And after that, I don’t know how it was, and I cannot explain it, soon a sweet comfort crept into my soul. The feeling came that God had taken the whole business into His own hands, and that things would go right at Gettysburg, and that is why I had no fears about you.”
Read His word.
Lincoln is said to have read the Bible regularly. His thoughts on its teachings are simple and strong.
“In regard to this Great Book, I have but to say, it is the best gift God has given to man. All the good the Savior gave to the world was communicated through this book. But for it we could not know right from wrong. All things most desirable for man’s welfare, here and hereafter, are to be found portrayed in it.”
Lincoln learned these principles over a lifetime of challenges, failures, and successes. What have your experiences taught you bout faith?
Spiritual Power Outages
As a result of Hurricane Matthew pummeling Haiti, the Caribbean, and the Southeastern United States, millions were helpless to power up and many lived without light, and the ability to carry on the basic tasks of daily home and business life. Power lines on the coast were torn or aflame, hit by fallen trees and wind-sparked transmitters. And we, brothers and sisters of those caught in Matthew’s wake, have been affected deeply by the devastating impact— physically, emotionally, and spiritually—of those hit by the category three-four hurricane.
As I’ve thought about Hurricane Matthew, I’ve thought about power outages in our own, everyday lives. Times when the lights go out. When things don’t seem to add up spiritually, and our faith-light dims. Maybe the storm that strikes seems to knock out the light altogether, and we face some sense of complete and utter darkness. We feel alone. Or afraid. Or abandoned. Most of us don’t like dark. At least not dark around the clock. We crave light. We need both a power source and a light source.
I remember camping one night in the mountains. We settled into the trailer and I snuggled under the covers. The sun was down. I could see absolutely nothing. It was pitch black inside the camper. I mean pitch black. I could almost feel the darkness. I blinked, and blinked again. Surely there was a sliver of light within my view’s circumference, a tiny bit of city light cast into the trailer. But no. Nothing. Finally, I couldn’t bear it. I had to find some satisfying spark of light. I jumped out of bed and groped my way to the door. I looked around. Nothing. And then I glanced upward. I saw the glimmer of a few distant stars in a clear dark sky. Ah, a bit of light. I basked in what it meant to be under the influence of a starlit sky. I should have slept there, but I didn’t. Instead, I returned to the trailer, grabbed a flashlight, turned it on—tucking it under the covers—and slept peacefully through the night. I remember that night, the night when the dark was just too dark.
Are there times in your life when you have felt spiritually numb or powerless, some midnight hour of fear or worry or loneliness? Where you looked for the light of relief but couldn’t yet find the stars? Perhaps you discovered a loved one’s sickness or addiction, or you were betrayed by one you thought your confidante and friend. Maybe you faced enemies you could not conquer alone. Or you felt powerless over your own circumstances. Has there been a time when you felt you underwent a spiritual power outage? A night when the dark was just too dark?
I remember the story of one man, a fellow warrior, who did. His name was Jehosophat, and he was surrounded by armies he could not have defeated alone. He faced a long, dark night. He knew, though, that there was a Higher Power to whom He could turn. And he did. He identified the problem and he asked for help. He said,
“We have no might against this great company that cometh against us; neither know we what to do: but our eyes are upon [you].”
He didn’t know how to execute and he didn’t want to execute. So he asked. He then did as he felt directed to do—he went down to the brook—and left the rest in the hands of his Higher Power. And he and his people were delivered. The light had overturned the dark.
Sometimes we feel we have no power except to seek the power of the universe, the power that is accessible to those who believe it’s there. There is no problem that our Higher Power is not aware of or does not know how to solve. Then we discern the direction that comes to us as we listen mindfully. Those words or impressions come as packets of spiritual power. It may be to trust a promise; it may be “to go down to our own brooks”—nearby places where God wants to do a work or help us resolve our issue. It may be to set boundaries between us and the approaching darkness. It may be to stand still and wait for further instruction. These impressions are a lamp and a light for our feet and show us where to go. And as we follow those, God does the rest.
That’s the kind of power that is accessible through our faith. It’s the kind that turns on the light. It comes as we ask for it, like Jehosophat did, and as we follow through with what we receive in response. We are refined, and a brighter glory shines than before.
We can all turn on that switch to that spiritual power. Even when we can’t do anything else. We can act and not be acted upon, even when we feel powerless. We can turn to our Higher Power. And faith will light the way.
Faith counts. It provides power beyond our own. Power to extend our natural abilities, to overcome weakness, to triumph in trial, to become better and more useful, to prepare solutions around us, to give us hope, peace, assurance, comfort and direction on otherwise dark and helpless nights. We can conquer. We can triumph. We can overcome. But not alone.
How have you accessed that power in time of spiritual outage?
 2 Chronicles 20:12
 Psalm 119:105
Karen R. Trifiletti, M.A. is a mother of two, writer/author, with extensive faith-based web and print writing, training, and creative development experience. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.