“He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”— Psalm 23:2–3 (NKJV)
There’s a kind of cold that doesn’t just touch your skin—it wakes your soul. I step into the scene: the air is crisp, almost sharp, and I feel the chill kiss my face. Each breath I take leaves a soft cloud in the air, like a visible sigh. And yet… the sun.
Warmth rests gently in my eyes, turning the brightness into a quiet blessing. It feels like God slipped a small smile into the sky just for me. The stillness of the day wraps around me, not heavy, not lonely, but calm. Safe.
A soft breeze brushes past, not strong enough to sting, just enough to remind me that even in stillness, life is moving. I hear the crunch, crunch of snow under my feet, every step a small reminder: I am here. I am present. I am held.
Then I hear them, the sound of geese somewhere nearby, their calls echoing over the water. I may not see them clearly, but I know they’re there. Their presence is announced long before their wings appear in the sky.
In that moment, I realize: this winter walk is preaching a quiet sermon.
God’s presence often feels like this. Sometimes I don’t “see” Him immediately. I don’t always get the signs I think I need. But I feel the evidence: the warmth in the middle of my cold season, the soft breeze of His comfort, the steady rhythm of each step I manage to take when I thought I couldn’t go on.
Like the psalmist says, “He leads me beside the still waters… He restores my soul.” Not rushed waters. Not crashing waves. Still waters.
On days when life feels loud and crowded, my heart longs for this kind of stillness, where creation is quiet enough for me to notice the subtle ways God is near. A winter lake that looks like glass. Trees standing bare, yet rooted. Snow that silences every extra noise. And a path where my only job is to keep walking with Him.
Maybe you’re in a season that feels cold. Maybe you’re wrapped in responsibilities, decisions, grief, or questions. You might not feel “green pastures” around you. But God is still leading you beside still waters within you.
Sometimes restoration doesn’t look like everything changing on the outside. Sometimes it looks like God calming you on the inside.
Here, in this simple winter walk, I’m reminded:
• His presence is the warmth in my cold.
• His voice is the whisper in my stillness.
• His guidance is the gentle path under my feet.
• His love is the unseen flock flying overhead, reminding me I am not alone.
This picture becomes more than a pretty scene—it becomes a Pearl of Grace:
a small, shining reminder that even in winter, God is quietly, faithfully restoring my soul.
