Finding the Presence of God in the Dreariness of Midwinter
“Find God in all things” (St. Ignatius of Loyola).
Winter doesn’t get enough credit. This cold, dark season, which forces so many of us indoors and frequently disrupts our routines, deserves a place in the “near occasion of sin” hall of fame.
Think about it: This time of year, there just aren’t many wholesome topics of conversation. Nobody watched the Oscars. Football season is over. Baseball season hasn’t started yet. Unless you live in D.C., politics is a subject most people would rather avoid. Late winter and early spring are often a conversational desert for every subject that isn’t basketball. The conditions are just right to fall into gossip and idle talk.
My therapist tells me there is a reason people become more anxious and depressed in the winter. Our central nervous systems prefer the light, because predators hide when the sun is out and tend to sleep during the day. Most threats come out at night or in the dark, when they are harder to see.
Has our society really evolved that much? Threats to our peace of mind certainly manifest differently when the days grow short and dark.
Disrupted Routines
I’m writing this article at night, which is unusual for me; I usually do my writing first thing in the morning. Contrary to the way many people picture creatives, I am not a free-spirited night owl. I usually follow a fairly strict early morning routine. I count calories religiously, and I am pretty temperate, drinking only a couple small glasses of wine once or twice a week. Dessert is for weekends only. I am a creature of predictability and routine.
I am writing at night instead of furtively preparing for my 5 a.m. wakeup because it’s winter. For weeks, my routine has been disrupted by forces majeures: school is cancelled due to ice, and the kids and I are stuck at home all day; my husband’s office has a snow delay; the Chiefs win the Super Bowl, and the school district shuts down so people can go to the parade (yes, that really happened).
My family and I have not had many Monday-to-Friday full work or school weeks since the New Year started. As a self-employed stay-at-home mom, I need my kids at school and out of the house to accomplish anything. My solitary morning habit of work and prayer is easily broken when I check my email first thing and find out school is cancelled. I opt, instead, to go back to sleep, so I can rest up for what is sure to be a long day cooped up inside.
The result?
Simply put, I haven’t felt like myself. I came out of Advent and Christmas so excited to bring all of the insights I had received from these rich liturgical seasons into “ordinary time.” Like for many people who made New Year’s resolutions, February has left me wondering where all my good intentions have gone.
Whom Does Your Routine Serve?
I slip up and talk about someone behind their back with a friend. The Accuser tells me I am a hypocrite, and I believe him. I immediately feel myself slipping away from my prayer habits and routines. Why bother? I knew better, and I still gave into habitual sin. Although I don’t completely abandon prayer and meditation, my devotions become rote, begrudging, and dry.
But I have to ask myself for whom my routine exists; have I been serving God or my habits?
As attractive as I find the idea of a rule of life for my small apostolate and little domestic church, I have to acknowledge that it may not look the way I’d envisioned it.
The Presence of God
My mother recently gifted me with a copy of Brother Lawrence’s “The Practice of the Presence of God.” This humble Carmelite friar’s even humbler prayer gave me insight into how a rule of life is possible in the midst of unpredictability:
Lord of all pots and pans and things…
Make me a saint by getting meals
And washing up the plates!
(I have to assume it rhymes in its original French?)
In “The Practice of the Presence of God,” Brother Lawrence describes how every situation presents an opportunity for communion with God: “The time of business for me does not with me differ from the time of prayer, and in the noise and clatter of my kitchen, while several persons are at the same time calling for different things, I possess God in as great tranquillity as if I were upon my knees in the blessed sacrament.”
With that beautiful expression of finding God in all things, I am encouraged to keep going.
Prayer isn’t just for when we have been on our best behavior and external conditions line up perfectly. No less a spiritual commando than St. Teresa of Avila encourages us never to give up, assuring us that “God withholds himself from no one who perseveres.”
Maggie Phillips is a freelance writer and military spouse with three small children and an incredibly patient husband. Follow her work at mrsmaggiephillips.com and on Instagram at @maggies_words.