Zeal is a useful word. First of all, there aren’t that many commonly used “z” words, once you get past “zip,” zero,” “zoo,” “zone,” and “zebra.” Not in English, at least.

But zeal describes a particularly marvelous human feeling. The word traces back from Latin zelu to the Greek zḗlos and indicates, in its biblical usage, an intense feeling that could reveal itself as love, jealousy, or “righteous indignation.” (The New Shorter Oxford Dictionary of English) But its literary usage in modern times conveyed an intense desire towards the pursuit of something, a cause or endeavor.

At this season of the year, we’ve closed the calendar on Christmas and Epiphany. Even if we put it off as long as possible, we have had to start climbing the next mountain known as the Spring Academic Term.

Whether you are a graduate student who didn’t quite recover from the exhaustion of Fall seminars or a homeschool mom struggling to find new ways to organize her twins’ curriculum, the challenge is the same. How do I keep the desire and energy going that we know full well is necessary for the weeks of demanding study ahead?

And that’s where “zeal” comes in, or so it seems to me. Zeal is a lot like joy. It exists in unlimited supply for each of us, but we have to grab it. We have to identify it, learn how to bring it into our lives, and use it. Most of all, we have to trust it.

How often have you had to take on a task (cleaning the garage, moving out of an apartment) and thought: “I cannot do this”? Or, “where do I start?” But in life, most of us aren’t given the opportunity to hide our heads in the sand while someone else takes on our jobs. Plus, a person learns quickly that the happiness and satisfaction of life comes from taking something hard on and accomplishing it. Slowly, blindly, we move forward. We get in there and start slugging. Bit by bit, things fall into place.

Still, academic work is something else. It’s not unreasonable to be worried about how you’ll keep the “zeal” necessary to march energetically through the long weeks of Spring semester. Yet human beings have a marvelous ability to be renewed. Think of what a good night’s sleep can do for a person. A few days in the mountains. A long chat with a good friend. These things renew us.

But there’s a bigger way to look at this. And while I’m that aware that issues of Divinity are not everyone’s “cup of tea,” go with me on this one. The true, inexhaustible supply of energy (and, yes, zeal) has its source in the Divine.

This isn’t exactly original thinking, I know. But each of us has to learn the lessons of the ages, yes? And this was a big lesson for me long ago: I may run out of energy, but God won’t. I may run out of determination. God hasn’t. I can lose my zeal for A, B, or C. God doesn’t.

This sounds simplistic. But it isn’t. The trick is remembering to turn to the source of real energy. It’s a bit like standing, freezing, outside the ring of a campfire, complaining that it is cold. Yup, where you’re standing it probably is cold. Move closer to the fire, the source of energy. It’s warm.

I had a friend back in graduate school in the 1970s who drew his zeal for learning from the centuries’ long tradition of Humanistic learning, particularly the Medieval scholars who served as copyists. These were the people who preserved and extended the cultural heritage of Western civilization. My friend would say, “If they can do that much work sitting in the debilitating chill of a drafty Medieval building, existing on the grim winter diet common back then, working by limited winter sunshine or sparse candlelight, then I ought to be able to do it sitting in a cozy apartment, with my mug of spiced tea, working on my electric typewriter.”

He repeated this mantra whenever things became academically challenging. His humble, simple strategy renewed his zeal each time, all the way through to his doctorate.

So, what I urge you to do as you contemplate the mountain of work before you now, is to think about the sources of inspiration that never fail you. It may be biblical readings you squeeze in before the household wakes up. It may be memories of your own ancestors who struggled (as did mine) to survive persecution to give their descendents a better life. It might be, as with my friend, an appreciation of the labor that preserved the precious traditions of learning we draw upon today.

Grab that inspiration. Trust it. Move closer to the campfire. Your deep-felt zeal will support you, as it has all those who have pursued learning through the ages.