Abiding Notes #9-On the Winter Blues

What I've been trying this year as winter feels dark, dreary and gloomy and how it's helped shift my mood!

Abiding Notes is a simple collection of reflections and moments from the week—snapshots of life and faith in the middle of full days. My hope is that these small notes encourage you to pause, look to Christ, and keep abiding in Him with grace and hope.

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Here on the Canadian prairies, winter doesn’t simply arrive — it settles in.

The cold turns sharp enough to sting your lungs. Snowdrifts swallow sidewalks. The sky hangs low and pale, and some days the sun seems more like a rumour than a reality. We learn to accept it. “Winter blues,” we say, as if naming it makes it normal.

Sometimes it is normal — the slow dip in energy, the heaviness that comes with shorter days. Sometimes it tips further, into what doctors call seasonal affective disorder, when the shadows feel less poetic and more oppressive. Some people book flights south. Others reach for vitamin D and count the days until April.

A few years ago, I started keeping a mood tracker in my journal app. Each morning I’d rate my mood on a scale of 1-10 and a few lines about what was stirring in my heart. I’d often pair it with a Scripture — not as a quick fix, but as a way of asking, Lord, what does Your Word say to this version of me today? My goal wasn’t to optimize happiness. It was to grow in emotional awareness before God.

Over time, as I clicked back to older dates, a pattern emerged. Winter. Every year. The numbers dipped. The words grew duller. I was surprised — though perhaps I shouldn’t have been.

I’ve walked through depression before, particularly during our transition from church planting in Tanzania to life back home. That season was heavy and unmistakable. This felt different. I was still functioning — working, loving my kids, serving in ministry. From the outside, life was good. But my inner world often felt flat. My energy lagged. Irritability crept in. I escaped into books or television more than I wanted to admit.

When I paid attention — really paid attention — I began to wonder if the winter blues weren’t just something to endure, but something to steward.

Strangely enough, it was research on jet lag before a trip to Kenya that nudged me in a new direction. Circadian rhythms. Light exposure. Sleep timing. Small physical habits that shape our mental and emotional world.

And so I began to experiment — gently, imperfectly — with a few practices to help me shift my mood and energy through the darker months.

These are five small things I’ve been trying.

1 Morning Light-A Small, Bright Experiment

Because I serve on our mission organization’s international board, I travel to Africa twice a year for meetings. Sometimes the trips are long. Sometimes they’re only a few days. Either way, the back-and-forth across time zones takes a toll.

Before one trip, I started reading about circadian rhythms, hoping to ease the transition. What I found surprised me. The research on light exposure — particularly morning sunlight — has implications not just for jet lag, but for sleep, mood, and energy.

It’s simple, almost embarrassingly so.

Our eyes contain receptors that respond specifically to natural morning light (not typical indoor lighting). That light signals the brain to release cortisol in a healthy, timed way — helping regulate our wake-up cycle, stabilize mood, and set the rhythm for the rest of the day. In short: morning light helps our bodies know it’s time to be awake.

The recommendation? Spend your first waking moments in real sunlight.

I was almost flabbergasted that I’d never really known this before. It felt so obvious once I read it.

But then the 49th parallel question surfaced: what do you do when winter sunrise happens after you’ve already left for work — or when the sky is a uniform grey for weeks?

That’s when I learned about “lux” lamps — light therapy lamps that mimic the intensity of morning sunlight. They’re designed to safely stimulate the same response when natural light isn’t available.

I remember wondering, Could it really be this simple?

For me, the answer has been yes.

I began turning the lamp on for 20–30 minutes each morning while I read Scripture and prayed. Nothing dramatic. Just light on the desk, Bible open, coffee steaming.

Within a few days, I noticed I was waking up before my alarm. My energy felt steadier. My mood lifted. Even my jet lag after that Africa trip was noticeably easier.

It hasn’t “fixed” winter. But it has helped.

And now I find myself talking about morning light more than I ever expected. It’s become a regular part of conversations with clients who struggle with mood.

Sometimes the smallest, most ordinary gifts — like light — are the ones we forget we need.

2 Sitting Back Down in the Counselling Chair

In my young adult years, I wasn’t opposed to counselling. I just never really needed it.

Of course I struggled — everyone does. But I didn’t have a clear reason to go. No crisis. No particular goal. Life was manageable.

That changed during our last year overseas, when we experienced a home invasion.

Our mission cared for us deeply in that season — immediate support, steady prayer, and a referral to a professional counsellor when we returned home. We went because it seemed wise. I stayed because I began to see how much I hadn’t yet understood about myself.

In those sessions, I discovered how limited my emotional awareness had been. I began to see how perfectionism quietly shaped my reactions. I learned to notice the “soundtrack” running in the background of my mind — the subtle narratives influencing my marriage, my parenting, my relationships, even my prayers.

What began as trauma care slowly became mentorship. In a season of transition and healing, my counsellor helped me untangle both my faith and my feelings with gentleness and clarity.

When she retired, I didn’t look for someone new. Life was full. I was busy. I told myself I was fine.

But working in mental health crisis care has a way of pressing on your own reserves. After a particularly heavy stretch of shifts, I found myself telling a colleague, half-lamenting, “I just want to talk to someone who wants to live.”

She placed her hands on my shoulders, gave me a small shake, and said, “Amber, I want to live. You’re doing a good job. Keep going.”

I smiled — grateful for her kindness — but I also knew something in me was thinning out. Not broken. Not in crisis. Just worn.

So I asked my supervisor for recommendations. I made an appointment.

I am so grateful I did.

There’s something profoundly relieving about being the one who doesn’t have to hold it all together. About sitting across from a skilled listener who isn’t looking to you for answers. About speaking honestly and being met with steady presence.

Some sessions uncover old patterns still trying to resurface. Others reveal new tensions belonging to this season of life. But each time, I leave feeling lighter — not because everything is solved, but because nothing is carried alone.

It has been, quite simply, a breath of fresh air.

3 Front Porch Time

Our life is probably lived at a 5K pace, when really we’re in a 10K race.

I often miss out on time just to sit — to be still, to contemplate, to think. The phone is within reach. There’s always something in the house that needs doing. There are countless small distractions ready to pull me away from quiet.

An analogy I really appreciated came from Samantha Decker in her book Hurried. She describes “front porch time” as moments to sit, unhurried, feet up, pausing the to-do list long enough to pray and reflect. I’m reminded of Elijah — how the Lord didn’t speak to him in the earthquake, fire, or windstorm, but in the quiet whisper of silence.

It made me think about how rarely I create space for that kind of quiet.

Hearing the Lord’s voice doesn’t often happen in the flurry of distraction. Jesus Himself withdrew to desolate places to pray. There seems to be something about stepping away that makes room for clarity.

So I began to consider what that might look like for me.

My actual front porch is covered in snow right now, but the idea still works. There’s a corner of my couch that faces outside, where I can gaze out the window instead of at the pile of dishes in the kitchen or the Cheerios under the table. I leave my phone on the charger in another room. And I take a few moments to breathe, to sit in silence, to pause.

I’ve also stopped listening to the radio when I’m alone in the car, letting the quiet become an opportunity to pray and settle my thoughts.

It’s often surprising what rises to the surface when I make room for stillness. The things that come to mind tend to shape how I pray.

I’m grateful for these small pockets of quiet — simple ways to practice relying on God in the middle of full days.

4 Changing My Eating Habits

I’m not recommending any specific diet for you. I’m not a dietitian, and I’m not your doctor.

But as I’ve been reading and researching more about health, I’ve repeatedly come across the benefits of reducing excess carbs and sugar. The research seems fairly consistent in pointing to their impact on energy, mood, and overall health.

So I decided to experiment — decreasing carbs and increasing protein.

It sounds simple. In practice, it’s anything but.

Because it’s never just about what you eat. It’s about why you eat.

This has required a certain curiosity about myself. What do I crave? When do I crave it? What’s happening beneath the surface when I reach for sugar, soda, or chocolate?

I’ve noticed that when I’m feeling sad, lonely, or anxious, I instinctively want something sweet. It promises comfort. A quick lift. A small escape. But often it’s my body signalling something deeper going on inside.

By intentionally reducing carbs, I’ve had to sit with those signals instead of numbing them. It’s opened up space to explore my inner life — the emotions, longings, disappointments, and unmet expectations that surface throughout a week.

And as they surface, I have the opportunity to bring them to the Lord. To seek His truth instead of simply believing the “truth” my feelings are telling me in the moment. It has become an unexpected way of practicing self-control. ¹

What I’m learning is that self-control in one area tends to spill over into others. Like a quiet domino effect. A steadiness I wasn’t anticipating, but have come to appreciate.

For me, the combination of nutrition and movement has simply helped my body feel well. My energy is steadier. Daily tasks feel lighter. Even climbing the stairs at home doesn’t feel like such a chore — though shovelling snow will probably always strain my back.

My husband teased me the other day, asking if I thought I was planning to live forever now. He was joking — especially with how many health trackers promise longevity and “optimizing” your lifespan.

But I have no guarantee that any of these changes will make me live longer.

What I do have are the promises of God and my hope in Christ. That hope gives purpose to today and tomorrow — whatever they hold — and calls me to steward what He has entrusted to my care, including my body.

I’ve been praying the words of Psalm 90:12: “So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” (ESV)

I cannot control how many days I’m given. But I can seek to live them wisely — attentive, grateful, and as well as I’m able with the time He provides.

5 Stepping Outside

As an introvert, I could easily stay inside for days on end. I’m sure I have, more than a handful of times. Winter makes it even easier — the cold bites, the roads are icy, snowboots and hats and gloves are required just to step outside.

But staying isolated indoors, alone, isn’t great for our mood.

Getting out the door has helped — even in small ways. Having our kids involved in activities makes a difference. We meet other parents and kids on different teams. Instead of endlessly scrolling to find a movie, we’re out, watching games, going to practice, helping with activities. We meet with friends for Bible study, go to Awana. Life is full, yes, but also rewarding and meaningful.

We don’t have to simply accept that the winter blues are inevitable. Even in the darkest months, small choices — opening the door, stepping outside, connecting with others — can shift our mood and perspective.

These habits matter because they remind me that I am embodied, that God cares about the whole of my life — mind, body, and soul. Each morning of light, each moment of stillness, each step outside is an opportunity to abide, to notice what’s stirring in me, and to bring it to Him.

I don’t have promises that these practices will erase winter blues. I do have the promises of God. I can trust that He sustains me, that He walks with me even when the sky is grey, and that He offers grace in every season. By paying attention, by stewarding what He’s entrusted to my care — my body, my heart, my rhythms — I can step through winter with hope, not just endurance.

Small choices, made faithfully, become practices of abiding. And abiding in Him is the truest source of light and warmth, no matter how long or dark the winter days may be.

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In Abiding

1 A resource for you

Check out Unhurried where Samantha Decker invites us to step off the treadmill of constant doing. This isn’t about clearing our schedules just to have more empty space. It’s about learning to live intentionally, with Christ at the center, so we can be fully present to what God is doing in and around us.

2. REFLECT

• Where in my life am I running at a pace that doesn’t match the season God has me in?
  Am I living as if urgency equals faithfulness — or am I willing to trust that abiding in Christ (John 15) produces fruit in its proper time?

• What distractions most often keep me from quiet with the Lord?
  When I strip away the noise, what am I afraid I might notice, feel, or confront?

• How does the gospel free me from the pressure to constantly produce?
  Do I believe that my worth is secure because of Christ’s finished work (Ephesians 2:8–10), or am I still trying to prove myself through activity?

• What would it look like to be fully present to what God is doing today?
  Not next month. Not in a different season. But here — in my ordinary routines, relationships, and responsibilities (Colossians 3:17).

• Where might Jesus be inviting me to step away and rest with Him?
  Is there a small, practical way I could create “front porch time” this week — not to escape my life, but to return to it grounded in His presence (Mark 6:31)?

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Thanks for being here! Have a great day!

Amber

~SDG

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1. Side note: Movement matters too. I already work out or stretch daily, so it didn’t feel like a new practice to include on this list. But regular exercise — around 150 minutes of cardio per week — has clear benefits for mood and long-term health. Not just casual walking (though something is always better than nothing), but intentionally elevating your heart rate to your target heart rate range.

For women especially, adding strength training a couple times a week is important. Lift heavy weight ladies! (see this podcast from exercise physiologist and nutritional scientist Dr Stacey Sims for more)