There’s a quiet moment every year, usually sometime right after Thanksgiving, when you can feel life tip forward into a new season. One day the trees are stubbornly holding onto fall, and the next morning they’ve surrendered, branches bare, air colder, lights going up around town. It’s like creation itself takes a deep breath and whispers, “It’s time.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about seasons lately. Not just weather seasons, but the seasons we walk through in our actual lives, the stretches of joy we didn’t see coming, the long valleys we wish would hurry up, the plateaus where everything feels steady, and the transitions where everything feels like it’s changing at once.
And as we enter the Christmas season, that thought keeps circling back: God is with us in it all. Not just the pretty parts. Not just the calm, cozy moments. Not just the Instagrammable pieces of December. All of it.
In the Gospel of Matthew, we're told that one of Jesus’ names is Immanuel, God with us. Not God above us. Not God far from us. Not God waiting for us to get our act together before He draws near. But God with us.
With us in the celebrations. With us in the stress. With us in the quiet drives home when we’re not sure how to fix the thing that feels broken. With us in the laughter with kids or grandkids.
With us in the grief that sneaks up on us this time of year. With us in the busy, ordinary, holy moments we don’t even notice until later.
Seasons change, but God’s nearness does not. Sometimes the shifting seasons around us feel like reminders we didn’t ask for. The darkness comes earlier, the mornings colder, the schedules fuller. But what if instead of seeing those things as interruptions, we saw them as invitations? What if each changing season—weathered or personal—was its own quiet nudge pointing us back to the steady presence of Jesus?
Maybe that’s part of what Christmas does. It slows us down just enough to remember: the God who entered our world that first Christmas, has actually never left it. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
So, as we step into this month together, here’s the simple encouragement on my mind: Whatever season you find yourself in right now, God is with you in it.
And my hope for us as a church family is that we don’t rush past that truth in the busyness of December. I hope this Christmas doesn’t just remind us that Jesus came, but that Jesus stays.
peace,
Nick
art: The Road to Emmaus by Janet Brooks-Gerloff, 1992
I’ve been thinking a lot about seasons lately. Not just weather seasons, but the seasons we walk through in our actual lives, the stretches of joy we didn’t see coming, the long valleys we wish would hurry up, the plateaus where everything feels steady, and the transitions where everything feels like it’s changing at once.
And as we enter the Christmas season, that thought keeps circling back: God is with us in it all. Not just the pretty parts. Not just the calm, cozy moments. Not just the Instagrammable pieces of December. All of it.
In the Gospel of Matthew, we're told that one of Jesus’ names is Immanuel, God with us. Not God above us. Not God far from us. Not God waiting for us to get our act together before He draws near. But God with us.
With us in the celebrations. With us in the stress. With us in the quiet drives home when we’re not sure how to fix the thing that feels broken. With us in the laughter with kids or grandkids.
With us in the grief that sneaks up on us this time of year. With us in the busy, ordinary, holy moments we don’t even notice until later.
Seasons change, but God’s nearness does not. Sometimes the shifting seasons around us feel like reminders we didn’t ask for. The darkness comes earlier, the mornings colder, the schedules fuller. But what if instead of seeing those things as interruptions, we saw them as invitations? What if each changing season—weathered or personal—was its own quiet nudge pointing us back to the steady presence of Jesus?
Maybe that’s part of what Christmas does. It slows us down just enough to remember: the God who entered our world that first Christmas, has actually never left it. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
So, as we step into this month together, here’s the simple encouragement on my mind: Whatever season you find yourself in right now, God is with you in it.
And my hope for us as a church family is that we don’t rush past that truth in the busyness of December. I hope this Christmas doesn’t just remind us that Jesus came, but that Jesus stays.
peace,
Nick
art: The Road to Emmaus by Janet Brooks-Gerloff, 1992