Cradled by Winter: The Healing Power of Rest
Discover the quiet magic of the season, where rest becomes renewal and stillness transforms the soul.
As the golden hues of autumn fade into the silver stillness of winter, the natural world offers us its quiet wisdom. The trees release their last leaves, animals retreat to their burrows, and the earth itself seems to pause and breathe. This is not a season of despair or stagnation; it’s one of profound transformation—a time when life slows to nurture its roots and prepare for the renewal to come. And yet, we often resist this pull to rest and reflect, forgetting the deep magic that can come from surrendering to the quiet.
One of my greatest teachers, LaWanna Rine, taught me this lesson in the most surprising and profound way. As my mentor in herbalism and healing, she shared not only her deep knowledge of plants and their medicine but also her understanding of how to heal the soul through rest and renewal. LaWanna had an adult-sized cradle, handcrafted from solid maple before the turn of the century by the Shakers. It was a beautiful piece of furniture—sturdy yet inviting, filled with soft pillows and blankets, designed to hold you snugly, without too much empty space. The cradle sat close to her warm wood stove, its gentle heat radiating into the room, wrapping everything in comfort.
Nestled in the woods of Strasburg, Ohio, LaWanna’s home was a sanctuary. When life felt overwhelming, I’d visit her. The first thing she’d do was brew me a cup of tulsi and rose petal tea, its delicate scent filling the air like a balm for the soul. Then she’d tuck me into that cradle, rocking me gently while the woodstove crackled nearby. Before I knew it, I’d drift off to sleep, and when I woke, the world always seemed softer, more manageable, and full of quiet possibilities
LaWanna’s teachings extended far beyond the tangible. She showed me that healing isn’t just about remedies; it’s about creating space for the body and soul to align. She taught me to listen to the whispers of the seasons and to honor the cycles of life. Winter, she believed, was a season for deep healing—a time to retreat, replenish, and prepare for what comes next.
LaWanna and her beautiful cradle have been gone for several years now, but the lessons she taught me remain. I’ve learned to recreate that same sense of comfort and renewal in my own home, using simple things. In place of the cradle, I use my own bed, piling pillows along my body and saving the comfiest one for my head. I wrap myself in a weighted blanket, its gentle pressure mimicking the cradle’s embrace, and light a candle—preferably one with a wooden wick that crackles softly, like LaWanna’s woodstove. As the candlelight flickers and the room fills with its gentle glow, I drift off for a while, just as I did in her home. It’s a ritual of rest that transforms my perspective and helps me face the world anew.
Winter is a season that mirrors this cradle-like magic. It invites us to nestle into its quiet, to conserve our energy, and to trust in the transformations happening beneath the surface. Just as LaWanna’s cradle provided a cocoon for rest and renewal, winter offers us a time to slow down, to reflect, and to let go of the need to always push forward. The frost may settle and the nights grow long, but this is not a void. It’s a cradle of change, where unseen growth begins.
When we let ourselves rest, truly rest, we make space for metamorphosis. Plants and animals understand this instinctively—they prepare for the season, adapting their lives to its rhythms. And so can we. Instead of fighting the winter, we can learn to embrace it. To make space for slow mornings with tea, for long, quiet evenings of reflection, and for the kind of deep rest that nourishes not just the body, but the spirit. Rest is not indulgent; it’s vital. It’s the fertile ground where our dreams take root.
Winter offers a unique beauty—a crystalline sharpness in the air, the glow of candlelight against the dark, and the soft embrace of snow that quiets the world. It’s a time to turn inward, to honor the cycles that guide not only nature but our own lives. It’s a season for finding our own cradles, for letting ourselves be held by the simplicity of rest and the promise of transformation.
So, as the season unfolds, let’s remember the cradle in LaWanna’s home—its gentle rocking, the warmth of the woodstove, its invitation to just let go. Let’s create spaces in our own lives where we can rest deeply, where we can feel held, and where we can allow the quiet magic of winter to transform us from within. Let’s honor the truth that this season holds: that in rest, there is resilience, and in stillness, there is strength. Winter isn’t the end; it’s the beginning of something new, waiting to bloom when the time is right. ✨
