In the bleak mid-winter… So begins one of my favorite hymns. I’ve written on it before in years past, and I’m here to do it again. The difference is that this year, in just one month, Minnesota made up for a few of its previous mild winters all in one fell swoop. December was bitterly cold and very snowy, with temperatures well below average and garnering 16.8″ (yes, inches) of snow. We had a white Christmas and a winter wonderland of a New Year’s Eve.

I know not everyone loves winter weather (ok, most people don’t love it), but this girl does. I love the cold and the snow. I love the icicles hanging from every eave, and the frosted windowpanes that showcase the privilege of a home that’s warm inside, even as the wind whips. I don’t love tripping over boots in my entryway, or wet gloves laid out over every inch of surface, but I do love that my kids have fun playing outside. I love going for walks on snow-covered paths beside an icy lake, breathing in snappy cold air with every breath.

The weekend after New Year’s Eve, my family and I took one such walk at a local regional park. We bundled up like we were models on the cover of a Lands’ End catalog — all boots and snowpants and hats and scarves and parkas — and we headed down a trail we’ve walked many times before. I’ve worn babies while walking this trail, let toddlers run wild down it, and held hands with my husband while strolling beneath the canopy of tree cover. It’s always beautiful, but that winter night, however, the trail was extra special.

The park had lit the full mile-long path with lanterns. It was as beautiful as you would imagine! Fresh snow had fallen, so the trees were flocked with white fluff, and the moon shone brightly in a star-flecked sky. My kids tromped ahead of us, laughing and bickering (it was still real life, may we not forget). We followed the trail that was lit by electric candlelight, steadily lighting the path.

Flickering cozy warmth the whole way, and beckoning us to continue walking, the lanterns literally lit up the night — not with the massive brightness of floodlight, but with the quiet strength of lamplight in an otherwise fully dark forest.

And isn’t that how beacons of light show up in the darkness of our own lives? Sometimes we may get spotlights, loud beams of bright light illuminating the way. But most often, the light comes through small glimmers — a firefly’s worth of lit path at a time. We can wonder if we’re even on the right trail any longer without a neon sign lighting our footsteps.

So how do we make peace with the bleak darkness of winter? How do we seek and see and trust even the smallest, dimmest, flickers that bring warmth to our hearts in the cold?

We squint, looking hard ahead. We step forward in faith. We look to the loved ones around us to help guide and gently steer us back on track if we’ve veered off. We trust God’s promise in John 1:5 that “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” We find the light in every good thing around us, every expression of gratitude we can muster, every act of kindness that crosses our path. We find warmth in the small blessings of daily wonder, of being helped up when we stumble, and in the general goodness of people.

That night we hiked the lantern-lit trail, we fumbled a bit. Decided to go off course for a moment, hoping our trail map wasn’t outdated and holding on to each other just in case. We stepped out onto the frozen lake, leaving a new path of footprints and a few snow angels behind. There were a few times I paused behind my family, watching and breathing deep and thanking God for the fresh air, simply overwhelmed by the glory of it all. They waited for me to catch up — and one time, a kid held a flashlight in a porta-potty to light even that darkness!

When we returned to the parking lot and piled into the minivan, it was with rosy cheeks and chattering stories, and then a drive home for cocoa and pajamas. That lantern-lit night hike was a highlight of my winter and of my 2025 holiday season.

Friend, as long as we are looking for the light, we’re still on the trail. God won’t abandon or leave us to wander alone in the cold, the wilderness, the dark. That’s how we make peace with it. We trust Our Guide.

And if you need a hand to hold onto, here’s mine. Grab on. Let’s go.

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