We gather inside by the fire, family together as God intended. These months teach us dependence—on each other, on our preparations, on the Lord's provision.

I made fresh bread while the snow fell. The warmth of the oven, the smell filling our home, this is woman's work in the best sense. Creating comfort. Sustaining life. My mother worked beside me, teaching without words, just hands moving in familiar patterns passed down through generations.

The world outside grows quiet under snow. Everything slows. This is good. We need seasons of rest, of turning inward, of tending the fire and the family. The hurried world forgets this wisdom.

Tonight we will pray together as we do each evening. Father will read scripture. Mother will mend. I will prepare tomorrow's meals. Simple rhythms, ancient patterns, holy ordinary moments.

Does the changing of seasons teach you patience, or do you resist winter's call to stillness?