The homestead is quiet in winter. The fields lie bare, the animals move slower, and the cold air seems to stretch time itself. There’s a sacred stillness to it—one that reveals more than it hides. I used to think of winter as something to survive, but this year, I see it differently. I’m beginning to understand that winter isn’t punishment—it’s preparation.

​When Gary Chapman described the winter season of marriage, he spoke of distance, pain, and misunderstanding. The joy of spring feels like a memory, and warmth seems far away. If you’re there right now, I understand. I’m living in it too. A judge’s decision has drawn boundaries that keep me from my family, and the silence can be deafening. Yet in this stillness, I’ve found that God whispers louder than ever.

Every homesteader knows that winter is not the end of the story. It’s part of the cycle that sustains life. Beneath the snow, the soil rests. Nutrients replenish. Roots stretch deeper in the dark. There’s no visible growth, but that doesn’t mean there’s no progress.

We often measure love—or faith—by what we can see. We want the green shoots, the blossoms, the harvest. But God measures differently. He works underground, out of sight, cultivating resilience and patience. The same sun that brings life in summer also governs the frost in winter. Both are acts of grace.

​I’ve walked my orchard in January and felt the brittle grass underfoot. Yet I’ve also known the promise they hold. When the thaw comes, those same orchard will awaken with new life. Our relationships, too, can awaken after seasons of cold. If the roots are still alive—if there’s still love, even buried deep—God can bring warmth again.  I don't know what my relationship will look like or if it will even survive winter, but something is coming and I choose to trust God.  He is the Gardener here and I am part of His miracle.

This year, my winter work isn’t measured in crops or livestock. It’s internal. I’m learning how to heal, how to listen, and how to trust God’s timing when I can’t see the road ahead. I walk outside some nights and look at the stars hanging over a cold desert, and I’m reminded of a promise God made to Abraham—that his descendants would be as countless as those stars. Abraham didn’t see the fulfillment of that promise right away, but he believed.

Maybe that’s what winter faith looks like—believing even when the evidence is buried under snow.

​It’s easy to love God when the garden is green, but it’s sacred to love Him when everything looks dead. That’s where trust becomes real. Living in the desert without my homestead reminds me of that truth every morning I wake up to people dressed in coats and gloves even though it isn't even cold outside here in St. George. But the plants are wilting in the cold and I know Who’s in charge of the seasons.

In the depths of winter, you prepare for spring. You mend what’s broken. You clean out the barn. You rest your tools. You let the soil regain its strength. The same is true in relationships. Sometimes, love requires retreating long enough to be renewed.  For me that may take even longer than a year, but I am excited to see what miracles the Spring brings.

This season of distance from my family has driven me closer to God. It’s helped me see that I can’t fix what’s broken in my own power. But I can tend my heart, clear the weeds of pride and anger (especially anger), and be ready when God calls me into the next season.

Winter forces humility. It reminds you that you are not in control. The snow will melt when it’s time—not before. And when it does, the land is softer, more fertile, and more willing to grow. Maybe hearts are the same way.

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If you’re walking through your own winter, you’re not alone. Don’t despise the quiet. Don’t fear the stillness. God’s greatest work is often invisible at first.

You may feel forgotten, but you’re being formed. You may feel frozen, but you’re being fortified. The same hand that brings the frost also brings the thaw.

​So rest. Heal. Listen. Pray. Prepare. Trust that the One who began a good work in you will finish it in His time. And when spring finally arrives—and it will—you’ll find that your roots go deeper, your faith stands taller, and your heart is ready for new growth.

What part of your life feels like winter right now? What do you sense God asking you to learn in this season?

Take a walk, even if it’s cold. Listen to the silence. Notice the life hiding in the stillness. Trust that God is already working beneath the surface.

​Gratefully,


Scott Alan Westhoff
​Create A Great Day.