Winter is on its way.
Each year, the season sweeps down from the Far North, like an ancient king deigning to visit this land. The sky unrolls a carpet of silver clouds for his advance. The trees stretch their bare hands heavenward in welcome. The dry grass whispers the news to the last crispy leaves. And the winds rush ahead, blustering through the forest—eager heralds declaring the coming of the king.
And the event they predict is not far in the future. In about three weeks, we will experience the winter solstice—the year’s shortest day and longest night and the official beginning of the coldest season.
As I brace for winter’s coming, as I count down the days until the arrival, I’m reminded all over again that these are stern and surly days. The world wears an inhospitable face, and the myriad hues that grace all other seasons have dwindled to monochromatic tones. Indeed, the view from my window can be downright depressing some days: a shivering landscape cowering beneath a sullen sky.
But winter’s negative effects on the landscape aren’t nearly as serious as the threats it holds for the wildlife. In a world of insulated buildings and warm cars and overflowing grocery stores, it’s easy for us to forget that for the denizens of field and forest, winter can be an epically deadly time. Some creatures evade it altogether, like birds that soar southward or chipmunks that burrow underneath the ground or frogs that slumber in the mud. Many animals, however, choose to remain in place during the cold months—and in doing so, they face many challenges. For one thing, food supplies are scarce. The swarms of insects that thronged the golden meadows have disappeared, the grass that sustained the deer all summer is dead and dry, and the trees and shrubs no longer produce tender shoots or succulent fruit. Shelter, or lack thereof, is another problem. Leafless woods and withered underbrush are a far cry from the protective canopy of the growing season. And as if all this weren’t bad enough, the temperatures are dangerously cold. Months of chilly days and freezing nights have to be survived before the creatures of the woodland can rejoice in the sun again.
Call it fancy, call it faith, but I like to think that in these gloomy months, the God Who watches the sparrows and tends the lilies sends woodland angels to watch over His creatures. Sometimes I imagine them, wings like wispy clouds against the sky, sheltering and defending and guiding the wildlife all winter long. Regardless of the exact nature of His provision, though, I do know that God doesn’t forget His little animals. So in this time, the way I make ready for the coming of winter is by partnering with Him to prepare for the woodland residents.
This isn’t as dramatic as it might sound. In fact, although there are plenty of ways we can help backyard wildlife, most of them involve surprisingly simple actions. For example, not raking the fallen leaves from garden plots until spring serves many vital functions, such as adding nutrients to the soil, providing habitat for animals like lizards and salamanders, and benefiting local insect populations. Also, while gardeners find it tempting to clip the withered heads of flowers that bloomed in the summer and fall, leaving those spent blooms alone allows birds to access the seeds hidden deep inside and use the fibers for nesting material. Building brush piles is another helpful action—small animals like mice and chipmunks use them as essential shelter. Of course, birdfeeders are always an obvious choice. Just outside my kitchen window swing a half dozen feeders, each offering a particular kind of seed and catering to a certain species of bird. The feeders attract birds from cheeky chickadees, to regal-crowned cardinals, to inquisitive titmice, bossy blue jays, and streaky finches.
These small acts for wildlife are the ways I prepare for the coming of winter—and I hope you might be inspired to join me in lending a hand for the animals as you also brace for this season. But my friends, as important as these preparations are, there’s another kind of preparation in which we need to be engaged now—not for the coming of a season, but for the coming of a Savior. There is a King on His way—not my imaginative personification of winter, but the Ruler of all.
Christmas is coming, like a slowly rising star, and I feel the knowing all around me—as if even the creation pulses with joy to celebrate its Maker’s birth. The sacredness of this time is as pure as the angels’ song in Bethlehem, as ancient as the Jews’ yearning anticipation of the Messiah. And each year, we relive the holy mystery through the tradition of Advent. Derived from the Latin word adventus, or “coming,” this season of the church calendar is focused on the coming of Christ—on the Love that sent a Son to this rebel planet, the grace that descended into our darkness and shattered the shadows forever.
The definitions and observances of Advent vary widely throughout different Christian traditions. But beyond any external variations, the primary feature of Advent remains the same—the focus on the imminent coming of Christ. No matter how it’s celebrated, the liturgy of Advent invites us to prepare for a specific purpose: to receive Jesus’ Presence.
If we’re honest, though, sometimes this preparation can seem, well, unnecessary. After all, we’ve heard the story of the divine birth more times than we can count. We’ve memorized the lyrics to all the Christmas hymns. There’s a well-loved creche on our living room table. Yes, if we’ve spent any time at all in the church, we’ve probably heard about Advent year after year. And it can seem not only mundane but make-believe as well. Lingering in the back of our minds is the knowledge that Christ already came to this earth two thousand years ago. We engage in elaborate liturgy inviting His Presence, but do we really expect Him to descend among us again?
The secret is this: the preparation is not truly for Christ, or at least, not in the sense we’re envisioning. We’re not making it possible for Jesus to enjoy our company; we’re making it possible for us to enjoy His. The preparation looks not out but in—making ourselves ready to receive the King.
The sad truth is that humans don’t retain spiritual heat very well. Our hearts tend to grow as cold and barren as the winter days. And just as the chill of the season is inhospitable to life, the coldness in our hearts can bar the door against the work of the Spirit. The only way to combat this tendency is to thaw our souls again and again and again—to continually invite Christ to come. Are we asking repeatedly for salvation? No—that is a one-time decision. But must we ask Him daily, hourly, to make our heart His home more and more fully—to expand the light of His grace in our lives? Absolutely.
Thus, Advent is not for Christ, but for us. If we want the King to come, we must prepare a place for His Presence. But with our hearts so apt to freeze, how can we make them ready for Jesus?
I’m reminded of a signature statement from the movie Frozen: “Only an act of true love can thaw a frozen heart.” When the sunshine of love hits our hearts, the ice of our self-sufficiency melts. However, the kind of love referred to is not romantic tingles or warm fuzzies or shallow affection. The only love powerful enough to be transformative is not the love we receive from others but instead the love we show to others.
At its core, love is simple. By this I don’t mean that it’s not sometimes messy, or uncomfortable, or inconvenient, or painful. It is often all of those things, but its underlying bedrock of selflessness is uncomplicated. And because of that, love delights in manifesting itself in the quietest and humblest of ways.
I’m reminded again of the acts I perform to prepare for the wildlife. I don’t do anything extravagant. None of my actions require careful preparation, or exhaustive planning, or an enormous amount of time. In fact, none of them, with the exception of providing birdseed, cost anything monetarily. These are not ground-breaking, earth-shattering gestures of generosity. In fact, we might be inclined to dismiss these actions as insignificant—until we see what a profound impact these “unimportant” deeds have on the winter wildlife.
You see, this is how we thaw our hearts—not with one blazing bonfire, but with a hundred tiny candles. As Mother Teresa, herself an amazing example of devotion to Jesus, reminded us, “We can do no great things, only small things with great love.” In a culture so obsessed with grand gestures, this is the recipe for preparing for the King and thawing our hearts, little by little—small acts of service.
“Whoever receives you receives me, and whoever receives me receives him who sent me….and whoever gives one of these little ones even a cup of cold water because he is a disciple, truly, I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward” (Matthew 10:40, 42 ESV). These words of Jesus remind us of the reason service is so powerful—because in every act of selflessness, we’re serving Jesus Himself. He restated this point in Matthew 25 with a parable: Christ-followers are enthusiastically welcomed to Heaven by God the King, Who praises them for performing acts of love toward Him such as feeding and clothing Him, attending His medical needs, and visiting Him in prison. The followers respond in confusion, unable to recall ever rendering such mundane service to God Himself. Jesus concluded the illustration with this powerful statement: “And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me’” (v. 40 ESV).
So in these drab days, I pull on my coat and lace up my work boots and head outside, into a chilly and churlish world. As the winter wind whistles from the north and the solstice draws irrevocably nearer, I prepare. I gather the stray branches that lurk under the trees and mound them into brush piles. I nod in approval at the dead flowers clinging to the dry branches. I fill my feeders and admire as the birds come, swooping toward the seed in a flurry of feathers. And I watch my breath swirl skyward and smile at the looming clouds and feel the crackling anticipation of Advent in the air. Because in these simple actions, I’m not just serving Jesus’ little creatures. In some mysterious way that I will never fully understand until eternity, I’m serving Jesus Himself. And as seemingly insignificant as my deeds are, they aren’t just preparation for winter. They’re preparation for Christmas—for Jesus to come in my heart, all over again.
Small acts of kindness—how seemingly insignificant, yet how great. What are some you can do today? It might be finding a good cause for some extra cash. It might be phoning a friend who’s going through a rough time. It might be writing a letter or lending an ear or sending a smile—or filling a birdfeeder. But whatever your act of love, remember this: it’s for the King. He is coming—and we’re priming our midwinter hearts to glow like summer in His love.
Did you enjoy this post? What are some ways you prepare for the coming of Christ? Let me know in the comments!
Friends, I have a special announcement today! You’re invited to the A Year in the Woods Christmas celebration! Presented by the Saline County Library, this live author event will be held at Capachi’s Coffee + Tea in Hot Springs, on Monday, December 13, at 6:30 pm. I’ll be providing an author interview, answering audience Q & A, and of course, selling and signing books! The event is FREE to attend, but space is limited, so please register today by clicking the link here. (Registration does not obligate you to attend, but it does allow for more accurate venue planning.) I can’t wait to see you all there and celebrate God’s world and God’s Word with you! P.S. – If you’re not in the Hot Springs area, fear not! This event will also be livestreamed to Facebook via the Saline County Library page!