January has always been my least favorite month. Its icy embrace and relentless winds seem determined to remind me of the solitude winter brings. As snowflakes danced playfully in the air, I pushed through my list of errands—grocery shopping, a stop at the dry cleaners, and other small tasks that filled my day with a rhythm of routine. Yet, by the time I finished, exhaustion hit me like a wave. The kind of weariness that goes beyond the physical, as if the cold had seeped into my very soul. It was one of those afternoons when the world feels heavy, and the chill finds its way into every corner of your being, no matter how many layers you wear. walked home, my thoughts drifted to the blessings in my life—small moments of joy, the comfort of a warm home, and the kindness of friends. Lost in this quiet gratitude, I found myself passing by St. Michael’s Community Church. The church stood as a beacon of quiet strength, its towering stone spires reaching for the heavens, shimmering faintly in the pale winter sunlight. I’d walked past it countless times before, but something about this moment felt different. Without a second thought, I stepped inside, drawn by an unspoken need for solace