Holding Hope in the Middle of Winter

The other day, I stopped to photograph a cluster of Lenten rose showing off on a cold, dreary morning. They were lovely and completely unbothered by the season around them.

And they made me think about Lent. About winter and hope.

Lenten Rose blooming in February

I didn’t grow up knowing much about Lent. I attended a small church as a child, but never learned much about the season leading up to Easter. I knew Easter, of course, but Lent always felt like something other people observed. Later in life, as I gained friends who were raised Catholic and developed a better understanding, it still felt like something that belonged more to them than to me.

Over time, my understanding has shifted. Now, when I think about Lent, I think about intention. I think about setting something aside so I remember to depend on Jesus in the everyday rhythm of life, something I often forget to do. It feels less like a rule and more like an invitation - a chance to turn my attention back toward Him and toward the promise of Easter.

This winter in Virginia has felt especially long and bitterly cold since January. In Richmond, we’ve had snow, then ice, and then more snow and ice that seems determined to linger in every shady corner of the neighborhood. I tried to embrace it. I lit the twinkle lights. I kept a little greenery up. I leaned into cozy. But even the coziest winter starts to feel long.

Snow and ice piled high in Henrico, VA

And then, in the middle of all that gray and cold, I saw the Lenten rose blooming. A quiet reminder that spring is on the way, even when it doesn’t quite feel like it yet.

Today happens to be Mardi Gras - a day of color and celebration before the quieter Lenten season begins. I love the idea of Mardi Gras: a moment to celebrate together and then take a collective pause. It’s a pause that allows reflection, small sacrifices, and a little more intention.

That’s what this time of year feels like to me. A time of waiting and holding on. A time of remembering that hard seasons don’t last forever.

Whether you choose to observe Lent by giving something up or not, I think there’s something meaningful in the pause. Maybe you give up sugar. Or caffeine. Or scrolling. Or, like a friend of mine once did, you stay out of TJ Maxx for forty days. Whatever it is, the point isn’t just the sacrifice itself. It’s the reminder. Each time you reach for the thing you’ve set aside, you redirect your thoughts back to Jesus, to His sacrifice, and to the hope we carry because of Him.

And even if you don’t observe Lent in that way, this time of year still offers an invitation to look for signs that something new is coming.

Do you have a sign of spring you look for when the weather has been dark and cold for too long? Is it the daffodils? The forsythia? That first stretch of warmer air that lets you crack a window open? I always feel like the yellow flowers are the first to tell us spring is on the way.

For me this year, it was the Lenten rose blooming in the middle of winter. A reminder that hope can show up quietly, long before the season fully changes.

Spring is closer than it feels. Sometimes we just need a little sign to help us hold on until it arrives.