To Begin Afresh, Again

How to Find New Life When the Season Feels Bare

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

“To begin afresh, afresh, afresh.” ~Philip Larkin

I keep returning to these words as the new year opens not in spring, but in winter. The last two Advents I have read through Malcolm Guites book Waiting on the Word. The poem a day for Advent feels approrpriate, and chapter ten of the book has become my favorite. Last year a different quote stood out to me which I shared in this post, With One Word. This year it was this simple line by Larkin: to begin again afresh.

It feels almost strange to talk about new beginnings in the heart of winter, when the ground is hard and the trees stand bare. The days are short, the air sharp, and much around us appears dormant or undone. It hardly feels like the right moment for fresh starts. And yet, perhaps this is exactly where beginnings are meant to take root—quietly, beneath the frozen surface, where God is already at work—even when we don’t see it.

The month of January, though offering no visible signs of renewal, invites us to begin again in a season that looks anything but new. I’ve come to love this time of year. Who knows what this new year will hold? The possibilities are endless. And yet, we can’t deny the new year arrives in winter, not spring.

Why do we talk about new beginnings when everything around us looks dormant?

Winter is not only something we simply step into as our calendar turns; it is a season many of us carry deep within our souls. It makes its residence in the grief that lingers, the accumulation of little disappointments, the exhaustion that sleep cannot cure.

Winter lingers in our weary bodies long after we wish it would disappear.

But winter is not a season that is meant to be hurried through. It is one God values as He is working under the barren surface to transform us into His image—even as we age, even as we walk the long surrender of obedience.

Winter is not failure.

God remains present in the cold, patient with the quiet, working even when the landscape of our hearts looks bare. For many of us, God does not hurry us out of winter, even though we sometimes wish He would.

So how do we survive the cold, barren winter? By carrying the memory of spring with us:

“We manage to get through the winter, and also perhaps the severer seasons of the heart, because we carry the memories of spring: we are sustained by a kind of parley between memory and hope.” ~Malcolm Guite

We remember.

For years I have kept what I call, my War Chest of Faith. What is a war chest of faith? Well, it’s simple. It’s a “chest” of my stored memorials—reminders of God’s faithfulness. I keep this chest in my journal. When I reread the memorials, my heart finds strength. I remember that God is for me and will fight for me.

We all need these war chests. Just like financial advisors suggest building up a war chest of money for when the hard times come. Building up a war chest of faith is wise when winter creeps in.

Whenever I see God move in my life, I write it down. It provides the remembrance I need when I feel like winter will leave me barren forever.

When I open this war chest, I see how God has intervened in my life in ways I’ve never imagined.

We endure winter because we remember spring. Even when the world is stripped bare, we carry within us the memory of a time when things were green—the warmth of sun on our skin, the bud pushing out of the stem.

We remember the faithfulness of God in earlier seasons—healings we once thought impossible, prayers that were answered in ways we could not have imagined.

Memory nourishes our shriveled spirits when green is not yet visible, feeding hope beneath the frozen ground.

These remembrances do not deny the present cold; they sustain us within it. The God who made things bloom before has not lost His ability to do so again.

Some beginnings start unseen.

Winter invites us to lean into it’s hidden work of stillness, quiet, rest. It is where the root work takes place. Nothing looks like it is happening yet everything necessary is.

“Someday we will know that the most exquisite work of our lives was done during those days when it was the darkest.” ~ J.R. Miller

Will we believe the most exquisite work of our lives is done during winter?

Some beginnings are not announced with fanfare. They begin unseen, held in the care of a God who knows exactly what He is doing, even when we cannot yet see it.

The darkness of winter leads us to Christ Himself. And slowly, but surely, we begin afresh, again.

The Mending

As you reflect on these words, resist the urge to rush into resolution. Instead, allow yourself a moment to be still. Ask God to help you remember one season of spring He has already given you—one memory of His faithfulness you can carry with you now. Hold it gently. Write it down if you can.

If you find yourself in a long winter, this is not the moment to give up. Fight. Remember. Believe in the hidden work God is doing in you, even now.

Consider what it might look like to begin afresh—not by changing everything, but by remaining faithful in the season you are in. God does not waste the dark. Someday you will see what is being formed beneath the frozen ground. Until then, let hope take root. Begin afresh, afresh, afresh—not once, but continually.