Faithful Winter Hours

Social Media Image - Caught my Eye

I saw an image recently.

Few words.

Huge value.

Huge meaning.

A single match pulled back from many.

It lingered with me.

In the writing cave, especially during these early hours when the world is undecided, it is easy to let the sparks gather. One idea touches another. Research opens into three more tabs. A deadline leans forward. A message waits to be answered. A scene refuses to rest.

Creative fire is a gift.

But even a gift must be tended.

Burnout doesn’t arrive with sirens.

It arrives with subtle heat —

when too many sparks are allowed to meet.

I have learned that stepping away is not abandoning the work. It is protecting it.

Pulling one match back from the others does not extinguish the flame. It prevents the wildfire.

There is discipline in pause.

There is strength in restraint.

There is stewardship in knowing when to separate heat from fuel.

And that’s what the weekends are for.

Not escape.

Not neglect.

But space.

Space for the marsh to speak.

For the dogs to stretch long in the light.

For bread to rise slowly on the counter.

For the mind to cool without going dark.

The writing cave is meant to hold light — not consume it.

And there is a rhythm built into creation itself —six days of tending,

and one of release.

Even the earth rests.

Even the tide withdraws.

Even the flame is meant to be lowered.

So I pull one match away.

Not to lose the fire —

but to keep it.