If Your Midwinter Is Feeling Bleak

“The Christmas Hymn” was first a poem by Christina Rossetti, titled “In the Bleak of Midwinter.” While the musical melody is haunting, the words she wrote are gripping.

Here on the northern plains, winter is long and cold and, indeed, bleak. The poem indicates that the nativity is midwinter, but I can testify that it’s certainly not the middle of our winter.

With all the excitement and bustle during December, winter doesn’t seem like, well, winter. Snow is exciting! A blizzard, canceled school days, or blocked roads is cause to celebrate and break out the hot chocolate and board games. Shoveling snow—the first few times—is fun.

But during January, when both the daylight and excitement have waned, our winter is bleak. What do we have to look forward to in January?

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,

In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

This first stanza describes our January accurately. The icy wind moans around the buildings and through the trees. Its bite can freeze exposed skin in just minutes when the temperature plunges below zero, as it often does. The earth is frozen solid to a depth of five feet. Water and water lines can freeze solid. And the snow! What once was picturesque and playful turns into frozen frustration. I believe Ms. Rossetti described a North Dakota winter simply by her use of the phrase “snow on snow, snow on snow.”

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;

Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.

In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed

The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

In those “snow on snow” moments, the second stanza brings hope. The snow on snow might not be literal; it might mean trial after trial. Maybe you’ve reached a point where you can’t handle one more thing, when you can’t shovel one more snowfall. To just such a place, in just such a time, Jesus came. Not to a palace or even to a Holiday Inn, but to a stable, bare and stark. Of all the places he could have been born, he chose the stable. It was enough.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,

Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;

Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,

The ox and ass and camel which adore.

In the hard days of January, I’m challenged to remember that my humble and even frustrating circumstances are enough. The days with more darkness than light, literally and figuratively, are days when I have enough.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,

Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;

But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,

Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

The infant Savior of the world had angels worshipping and heralding his arrival, but his only human touch came from his mother. When the Christmas excitement dies down and family goes home, you may be left alone. Alone in your struggle, alone in your joy, alone in the silence.

In the alone time of January, we can worship. Through our challenges, through our joys, we can worship.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

When the darkness and cold, the snow on snow of January hits, what can we give? We can sing in the darkness. We can choose joy over frustration. We can choose to be light to others and to be light with ourselves.

It can be easy to walk the edge of despair, to sink into the darkness. But when I hear the words of “In the Bleak Midwinter,” I hear a song of hope. At humanity’s darkest hour, Jesus entered our midst. God became man to walk among us as the Light of the world.

As we walk through the dark, cold days of January, a light burns—the light of hope! Even as the earth lies frozen, within that cold soil, seeds lie dormant, waiting for their spring. Let your seeds of hope grow during this month. What are you germinating in frozen soil? What hopes, dreams, and goals can you bring light to this month?

John 1:4–5 says, “In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (NIV). We shall not be overcome. We shall rest in the darkness and break forth into the light.

Annie Carlson is rooted like a turnip to the plains of North Dakota where she raises great food, large numbers of farm animals, and three free-range kids with her husband. You can find her with either a book or knitting needles in her hands as she dreams up her next adventure.

Photograph © Zoltan Tasi, used with permission